


Submission Games

by rispacooper



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Collars, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Skirts, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is staying with Nick for a while, and one night Nick comes home early and is surprised by some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Submission Games

**Author's Note:**

> Based in part on (of course) the video for _(s)AINT”_ by Marilyn Manson, featuring Eric Szmanda (Greggo) in a miniskirt and collar, which is just hot, and also on the real life stories of George Eads (Nicky) letting Eric crash at his place for a while, which is just so buddies and cute.

It had been one hell of a shift, so crazy and exhausting that for once Nick hadn’t minded being told to leave early, because all he had wanted since getting to work to find the Trace Lab in chaos, and Catherine snarling about a suspiciously missing Grissom, had been to come home so he could fall back on his couch and close his eyes.

To be honest, he’d been tired before even going in, just annoyed at how strangely quiet the lab had been outside of Hodges’ moaning and Catherine’s rants, everyone running tests and filling out paperwork, except that Nick had already completed his forms and his tests were all stuck in Trace until Hodges pulled his head out of his ass. A slow night should have been a welcome break, not a night spent on edge looking around the lab for some sort of distraction. Even Ecklie had noticed his strange restlessness and decided to send him home, saying something snide about cutting back hours if Nick was so bored, then telling keep his phone on. He didn’t need to be sent home when there was work to be done, and of course he would have kept his phone on, but Nick had still only managed to frown at Ecklie before he’d found himself close to running out the door.

His house was as quiet as the lab tonight, and it only increased the jittery feeling. Nick sighed, slipping his work boots off and sinking back into the wide cushions of his couch. It still smelled new, after over a year, and he considered how much time he had spent working lately, if it was too much, maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to concentrate tonight.

He could have gone out instead of coming home, but he wrinkled his nose at the thought of a crowded, smoke-filled club, preferring the clean, straight walls of his house, a comfortable place to sit and just think, now that there wasn’t anything to disturb him.

Nick opened his eyes and glanced around even though he knew it was pointless to search because Greg was out. Greg had been talking about going out for weeks now; anticipating his one night off so eagerly that there were pools down at work about what exactly Greg was really going to get up to, if it was going to be half as wild as he had hinted it was going to be. With Greg it was hard to tell when he was kidding and when he meant it, even if most of the time Nick was pretty sure it was an act. But wherever Greg was, he wasn’t here; there were no sounds at all coming from Nick’s spare room, and no lights anywhere in the house. Nick hadn’t bothered to turn any on as he’d walked in.

Silence. Nick could hear himself breathing, heard his breath hitch as he took his eyes away from the hallway, noting that Greg had left a pile of criminology texts on the floor. He didn’t regret letting Greg stay here while Greg waited for his new, cheaper apartment to open up. Greg’s paycut to become a CSI had meant a lot of sacrifices, and so far Nick hadn’t heard him complain once outside of his worrying about where to stay in the month between moves, which was why Nick had found himself asking Greg to move in with him.

Greg was pretty okay as a roommate. Actually, he wasn’t bad at all, not like the jokes the team had made at Nick’s expense when they’d heard. Greg was surprisingly neat, all his stuff was always put away as precisely as it had been back in his DNA days. He made good coffee, spent most of his time studying or falling asleep in front of the TV, right where Nick was now. He even kept his obnoxious music mostly to himself. Nick only caught a snatch of it now and then, muted and tinny as Greg removed his headphones; though he listened to those so loud that sometimes Nick found himself nodding his head to the hypnotic, heavy thump of the bass. And, most importantly, Greg hadn’t laughed—much—at seeing the dartboard on Nick’s living room wall.

“Standard American male bachelor pad décor,” was all Greg had said, leaning close and grinning, which had made Nick try to remember ever seeing a board at Greg’s old place, and to try to ignore Greg’s use of the word ‘décor’.

Nick frowned slightly now, thinking about the board, which was almost unused, and why Greg had said what he had with that artful sigh, as though it was exactly what he’d imagined Nick’s place would be like. Not one word about how clean Nick kept everything, and Warrick had been all over Nick’s OCD tendencies. So had Sara, visiting once. But not Greg. But it was weird to think about Greg imagining things about him so Nick pushed the memory away.

His frown deepened and he leaned back into the cushions, his body aching as he tried to relax. His fingers ran over the buttons on the remote resting on the arm of the couch, but he didn’t turn on the television.

The house really was quiet. No humming coming from the shower. No banging of pans in the kitchen as Greg made grilled cheese, or hints of late morning movement in the room next to his bedroom.

Greg must be out at some wild party. Nick turned up his lips a little and shook his head. It was all he could do not fall asleep on the couch, much less go look for girls. Greg was probably finding Nick’s everyday life pretty dull.

His head came up at the sound of a key in the lock, the security light outside coming on, filling in the cracks in the shutters over the windows. The room suddenly had streaks of color, bolts of light making Nick realize he was still sitting in the dark, and then Greg was opening the door.

Nick twisted his head to greet him and then stopped dead—the glaring light outside framed Greg perfectly as he stood in the doorway and jiggled the spare key free of the lock. It illuminated Greg’s spiked hair, Greg’s slim body, a familiar outline coming into his house, and Nick smiled as his gaze kept traveling down, to the short, high skirt and bare legs, and…

And then Greg was inside, the door closed, most of the light gone.

Nick blinked, not sure he had been blinking right for a second there, not sure he had been _breathing_.

He heard a sigh over the click of the locks being turned, or maybe a quiet yawn, then the keys being tossed onto the table below the dartboard.

His mouth was dry. Nick knew his mouth was dry, and he tried to focus on the last time he’d had a drink of water. It didn’t work, but he swallowed, lifting his hand from the remote only to let it fall back again.

Clunky shoes. He focused on that instead, because he _had_ seen chunky high-tops, and straightened, spiky hair. And the guy had a key. Therefore it must be Greg. Greg Sanders, his friend, the guy he thought he knew, the guy he lived with. The guy…wearing a skirt. A short, flared skirt way too high up long, bare legs and…had he had on a sweatshirt too?

Maybe it was for a dare, or a costume party. This was Vegas after all. That had to be it. Greg talked a lot, but he wasn’t one of those fetish people, tying each other up, or down, or spanking each other, or whatever it was people like that did.

“Greg.” He hadn’t meant to whisper, the name just came out.

Greg must not have seen him because there was a jump he felt more than saw, and a loud clunk as Greg stumbled backward into the table.

“Nick! You alright, man? I saw your truck, I thought you were asleep. Get part of the night off?” The questions were coming so fast that Grissom could have been in the room. Nick wasn’t quite sure that he wasn’t, only another stalker living in his attic would have been more unexpected.

“Greg,” he said again, his voice thick, and the security light outside blinked off and left them in darkness.

“You didn’t get thrown out of anymore windows, did you?” Greg’s laugh was shaky, as unsteady as he evidently was. Nick heard him bump into the table once more, the noise of keys sliding. “Or were you waiting up for me?” If that was a joke it didn’t matter, because Nick ducked his head, remembering suddenly that he’d been sitting alone in the dark and knowing that it must look strange.

“Weird shift.” He got out, and then realized belatedly that Greg had been babbling. And babbling Greg meant nerves. Greg was nervous. Maybe even afraid.

Nick was having a little trouble himself. His palm was sweaty against the slick plastic of the remote. He pressed down without thinking, wincing at the surge of light and the mumble of replayed sports commentary.

He turned his head away from it, looked over at Greg in time to see him shuddering from the light too, dim as it was. Normal enough.

Or not. Nick felt his gaze drop, his breath coming hard through his mouth.

This was Greg. This _was_ Greg, but… He had never seen Greg’s legs, not like this. This wasn’t a quick glance as Greg stumbled to the bathroom in his boxers and a t-shirt, Greg’s skin glowing in the afternoon light, his stomach exposed when he scratched absently at his tanned, flat belly. It made sense that Greg would be tan, would love the sun for all his lab rat tendencies, but the warm, rich tone of his skin had been a surprise. But it made sense; that was all Nick had let himself think about that.

Greg was tan now even in the bluish light, golden, clunky shoes and slim, fit legs leading all the way up to his skirt. The skirt. Nick’s eyes were beyond lingering. He was staring.

The skirt was plaid and pleated, like some breathless Catholic schoolgirl in a skeezy porno, obscene in its lack of length, creating shadows with every minute shifting motion. A skirt, short enough to be knocked aside with the brush of a hand.

Nick licked his lips, forcing his eyes up to the bulky, dark hoodie covering everything but the sweat-dotted angles of Greg’s collarbone—and the black, silver-studded dog collar pressed tight around Greg’s neck. It moved as Greg swallowed.

Nick watched Greg’s throat muscles work, almost painfully aware of Greg’s current hairstyle, the dark brown roots and bleached blonde tips all gelled to reach upward, and the unfamiliar smoky black eyeliner, the dusting of silver across the high cheekbones. He absorbed the sight, and then let his gaze drift back down to the thin collar, to the mark of ownership. Collars. Leashes. Submission. He remembered it all from the case with that Lady Heather no matter how much he tried not to.

His mouth was open, so he took a deep breath and closed it. Then he finally met Greg’s eyes.

“Hey.” Greg blinked at him, blinked those suddenly, unbelievably wide eyes at him and tried a smile. “Don’t suppose this could be just between us?”

The lab. Nick had forgotten he even worked at a lab, but the team would love this story. It would be the talk for weeks, months maybe. The subject of every joke. Greg would be the subject of every joke; his every move watched his open curiosity and suspicion, or worse, hostility. A picture would be priceless, almost fair payback for Greg and the Crimestoppers fiasco all those years ago, but Nick couldn’t seem to make himself move.

He shook his head, then tried to say something, to sound normal.

“This…this a usual thing, Greggo?” His neck cracked when he dropped his head, flicking a glance to the tight band around Greg’s throat, the changing light of the TV making it seem as though Greg’s pulse jumped. His own heartbeat was pounding loud. He clenched his jaw and looked up to see Greg’s careful shrug.

“What is usual?” And that was so like something Grissom or Catherine would say about human nature that Nick jerked his head up, but Greg was still talking. “ _Usual_ implies everyday, or at least once a week, something commonplace, or habitual, and…”

“Greg…” The low warning stopped Greg mid-sentence, and then Greg shot him a careful look through lushly painted eyelashes. A girl’s lashes, but Greg wasn’t a girl. It wasn’t like Nick hadn’t noticed that.

“You act like it means something.” Greg answered lightly, prevaricating as well as Grissom. Nick clenched his jaw so hard he could feel his teeth grinding together, just thinking about how he would have missed that a few years ago, how he wouldn’t have even noticed Grissom and his obvious attraction to Lady Heather and her _lifestyle_ , her business, how he preached accepting it all as just a part of being human.

It was just as easy to remember Greg’s knowledge of it all, the latex, his fingers moving without hesitation over those leather masks. Masks designed to void someone’s identity and take away everything that made them special, turn them into some kind of symbol. He’d swabbed harnesses and leashes for DNA, sliding his hands down the soft and carefully treated leather, over the pointed studs, mocking Nick with his little remarks as though Nick didn’t know what sex was.

 _“Guys paint it on girls, girls paint it on guys,”_ and then a pause, that pause where Nick had thought about telling Greg what exactly making love meant but instead had just stood there, listening, waiting for what Greg should have added, blinking when Greg had trailed off instead. He’d shrugged and tried an overbright smile. _“You can paint it on yourself if you can’t get a date…Whatever you’re into.”_

And what was Greg into? Magazines with tattooed, bright-haired rock star babes. Wearing a showgirl’s headdress like it was fun, unconcerned with making a glittering spectacle of himself. And apparently, this.

Greg was…Greg was one of them. One of those kinds of people. Tonight he could have gone to one of those clubs and paid for some hot chick to make him get down on his knees, to dress like that and crawl shamelessly on all fours, begging for more while that skirt rode higher and higher with every move.

“Did you go to Lady Heather’s?” He almost wheezed the question, shaking his head when Greg let out a short laugh.

“Lady Heather’s?” Greg laughed again, louder this time, almost too loud. His hand came up to play with the zipper of his sweatshirt, sliding up, then down. “That’s a little out of my price range, even if I were into that kind of thing.”

“You’re not?” Surprise brought Nick’s eyes back to Greg’s face—to the faintly glossy circle of his lips, noticing the evidence of some kind of lipstick, unsmeared, and he didn’t know what that meant.

“I was at a club, Nick, having fun…you know, _fun_?” Greg waved a hand around and jerked his eyebrows up, meaning just about anything by “fun”. Or just one thing. It wasn’t hard to picture Greg sliding up to some willing figure in the darkness, leaning in to smile like some crazy pixie, painted eyes offering a challenge.

Nick tried to smile, to roll his tense shoulders, to seem calm. He was calm. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be.

“So…” He cleared his throat. “Ladies like that, huh?”

The whole ‘80’s…androgyny…glam _thing_ , playing dress up in lacey shirts and eye shadow, moaning challenges like Bowie. Nick had never understood that, why blurring what made men men and women women would get some people hot. Not that Greg was really androgynous, even with his gloss and his skirt, not with his surprisingly broad shoulders and thin hips, the bobbing Adam’s apple. No matter how red the lips were poised over the microphone they were still a guy’s. And even hiding in his sisters’ closet and playing their records in secret hadn’t convinced Nick that it wasn’t weird, no matter how many girls had been in love with that “Rebel, Rebel”.

Even distracted with the memory, Nick didn’t miss the pause in Greg’s movement—another damn pause, like Greg was holding something back again—the way Greg’s hand froze on the zipper.

“Oh man.” Nick couldn’t breathe; his chest was too tight to let the air out of his lungs. His face was hot; he knew that, felt the burn at his ears, his cheeks, his neck, underneath his shirt until his whole body was on fire.

He turned dry eyes to Greg, saw Greg’s hands up, outright, open panic in his wide eyes. His skin as pale was Nick’s probably was red.

The T.V. Nick’s fingers moved and suddenly the sound was muted, gone. Nothing between them now but quick breaths and his racing heartbeat.

“Oh man,” he said again.

“Nick.” Greg hurried forward, stopping just short of Nick before dropping onto the couch. He scooted to the other end before Nick could say anything, tucking his skirt around him. “Nick, it’s just fun.”

“Fun?” Nick knew he sounded close to shouting and tried to calm down. In his mind there was Greg, sliding up to some willing figure, some dark, _male_ figure dressed in some equally outrageous outfit, smiling back as Greg slinked forward, one strong arm reaching out to yank him closer, slipping up one sweaty thigh to disappear under pleated plaid.

He shook his head, glaring now.

“Fun?” he repeated. “Fun you never mentioned until now?” He put out a hand before Greg could speak and explain, a little surprised when it actually kept Greg quiet. “Something that dangerous, just for fun?” Random strangers in a club, a secret life...

“I hinted,” Greg defended himself silkily, ending Nick’s spinning thoughts, then tossed his head. “Don’t play like you’ve never taken a girl home.” He rolled his eyes as he said it because they both knew the answer to that.

“I’ve never dressed in strange clothes and…tied people up and played submission games, or wore those…” He pointed to the collar accusingly, noticing how his hand was shaking and quickly dropping it back to his lap.

“Submission games…?” Greg looked down, the soft words lingering too long in the quiet, too gentle for what they meant, chains and slavery and pain. “Sometimes a cigar is anything but, Nick,” he added, not making any sense, and Nick was frowning at that but Greg wasn’t done talking. “That’s the second time now you’ve mentioned something like that.”

Greg raised knowing eyes to his, eyes that gleamed even without the flickering light of the television. Triumph like that only came when Greg found workable DNA somewhere no one else could have, when Nick picked the right chemical compound, when Grissom actually said the words, “Good job”.

“Greg…” Nick spoke around the block in his throat, glancing away to the T.V., staring at nameless sports commentators, counting the breaths until he could speak again.

Greg was wrong. Brilliant, but wrong.

“You’ve been spending too much time with your porn. Full scholarship to Stanford and still wrong,” he whispered at last, wetting his lips and trying to smile, make it a joke. His hand skimmed over his head, sweat trickling through hair carelessly buzzed a little too short. But it wasn’t like he was going to worry about hair, not like Greg did, all gels and pricey shampoos.

“So you had a long day?” Greg hinted after a moment, not moving from his bent, tense pose at the opposite end of the couch, his shoulders and arms down, hands between his legs to hold the skirt in place.

“Yeah,” Nick sighed heavily. Waiting for Greg to look at him, frowning when he didn’t. “Bad day to get work done,” as though it mattered now, but he said it anyway. “We could have used you.” He meant it, even if he didn’t tell Greg that most of the time. Greg always seemed to make his shifts easier; even when he was being a pest he lifted the mood. But Greg probably thought he was lying now, trying to distract him, make him feel better.

“As if I’d forgo what’s probably going to be my last full day off for months.” Greg’s laugh didn’t seem too forced. It was Nick who flinched, because he meant last chance for _that_.

Nick pulled in a breath, dragging his hand down his thighs, digging his nails into the denim. “Sorry I ruined…your night off,” he got the end of that sentence out quickly and Greg’s head jerked up.

“S’fine.” Greg waited, then pushed back into the cushions, pulling the edge of the skirt up an inch. “…Wanted to come home early anyway.” He made a show of resting his arms on the back of the couch, feigning relaxation. “What’s on?” he wondered, as though this were normal. Maybe it was. Maybe Greg didn’t know what normal was. Nick had learned early on that Texas normal wasn’t Vegas normal, or California normal, but there was no way he was going to sit here and pretend that one of his best friends—maybe his best friend—wasn’t in a skirt and dog collar and God knew what else under that sweatshirt.

“Basketball scores,” Nick responded without so much as turning to look at the screen. Greg wasn’t looking at it either, but he nodded. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, used his fingers to play with his zipper some more.

Nick scraped his palms across his jeans once again, feeling the cotton, knowing it would be softer than the harsh weave of wool.

Living with him. Working with him. How had he never noticed before? Hinted, Greg had said, as though he had expected Nick to understand them, all the glances, the smiles when Nick would lean over him. To get more information, he had always said, told himself.

“Look, Nick, I know what you’re thinking…” Greg burst out suddenly.

“I doubt it, G.” Nick cut him off shortly. Greg hadn’t minded, that was clear. But he hadn’t pressed either; Grissom would have demanded at least that amount of fairness, even in this. Not once had Greg done more than smile at him. The leaning in, the hands pressed to shoulders, to his back, to where they had had no business being…that had been Nick. All Nick.

Greg should have told him, and then he could have…could have…

“What else, Greg?” he ground out, glancing over to see the startled way Greg raised his head, how that moved the skirt again—higher than even a porn star would have worn it. “What else are you hiding under that sweatshirt?” That was wrong. It wasn’t what he wanted to ask at all, and not how he wanted to ask it, his voice gravelly and low and far too stern. It was none of his business what Greg did in his free time, or who he did it with, or what he was wearing underneath the heavy black cotton. He knew that. Just like he’d had no business ever laying hands on Greg in the lab.

But he felt himself staring, and his feet were making no move to take him away.

For a second he shivered as though he was standing in freezing mountain air and yelling at Greg to move, yelling when he’d known Greg had just been confused and scared, and even though Greg had finally kicked into motion, Nick had still felt guilty, like he’d been pushing too much. But he hadn’t, Greg had been fine.

His ears were burning. “I mean, you wear what you want, Greggo.” That’s what he should have said, what Catherine would have glared at him until he had said. Warrick would have just shrugged, not really caring what other people got up to. And Sara, she would have already known; Greg would have told her. But not Nick. He hadn’t told Nick, and so there was no way Nick could say that.

Greg wasn’t pretending to watch the T.V. He was watching Nick. And any minute he was going to make a smug remark about the many things Nick didn’t know and had never bothered to learn down in Texas.

“Just a shirt.” Greg’s laugh when he finally spoke was just a little mocking, of what or who, Nick couldn’t say, but he drew his brows together, watching Greg widen his eyes in a display of innocence that no one had ever believed.

He could pretend to though. He could follow along with that laugh. But he didn’t feel like joking, and when Greg only continued to stare at him with those beautiful smudged eyes, he felt his frown deepen. Makeup and a skirt, but he was still Greg, nothing feminine about him.

Greg blinked but didn’t look away.

“People at your club can see it, but not me?” Nick didn’t even know his own voice—it wasn’t him, couldn’t be. He would have left the room a long time ago.

His heart was pounding, his breath coming too fast, but if Greg noticed for once he had nothing to say about it. Back in the lab he would have tilted his head and shot a look at Nick through his lashes, and Nick would have shaken his head and left as though he hadn’t seen it. Over and over, they had gone through the motions. How many times now?

It didn’t matter. He saw it now and licked his lips when Greg angled his head to consider him, the pose flirtatious even if he gaze was serious. “What do you want, Nick?”

He hadn’t been prepared for that—a direct question. But Greg was a scientist beneath the glitter paint and rock music, and the most direct route was usually the best.

Greg’s eyes said he knew exactly what Nick wanted. They had always said that, even when Nick had refused to play along.

Nick dropped his gaze to the shiny, parted lips, to the tight black of the collar. His fingers curled into his jeans and he exhaled slowly, shuddering at spike in his gut, pushing him to sit up straight. The air was warm and wet on his dry lips and he darted out his tongue, displaying his nervousness for Greg to see. The old Greg would have crowed a laugh at that until Nick would have clamped a hand to the back of his neck and leaned in to whisper a threat.

He had felt the quickening of Greg’s pulse under his fingertips, had wished it was fear, had pretended not to see the shiver, or to want the heat under his hands. His stomach twisted at the memory just as a sudden motion caught his eye, made him glance up.

Greg’s hand was toying with the jacket’s zippers, fingers trembling too much for calm. It was Greg’s eyes that were steady, steady on him, waiting.

Nick’s mouth opened, his eyes widening as he tried to mumble some excuse so he could get up and leave.

“Take it off.” His voice was rough in his chest like he’d just woken up. He nearly flinched from the sound of it, what he had just asked—no, what he had just demanded.

There were no apologies, but still he tried, only to gulp down his words at the hiss of a zipper.

He could see flashes of more black, the neckline of a tight t-shirt, and then Greg was shrugging, leaving the sweatshirt in a soft pool around his waist.

Greg was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt. There was nothing strange or off about it, other than it being skin tight. Nick could see the dip of slight muscle at Greg’s stomach, the lines of his ribs, the flexing cords in his shoulders just visible as Greg turned to better arrange the jacket.

His hands were fists, his body shaking from sitting still and waiting for Greg’s challenging smile, the same one that offered hints about amino acids and pH levels but never gave Nick the answer until he was good and ready. Greg knew. If he hadn’t before, Greg knew now, somehow. Nick had given himself away.

“Greg?”

“Yes, Nick?” There was no smile, no laugh. In fact, Greg sounded close to breathless. But he was smiling, his lips parted like just might laugh after all. Nick could feel the same tickle at the back of his throat, something hysterical like the urge to run tingling in his legs. His jeans were too tight.

“What…” He couldn’t breathe. “Tell me…tell me what you do in the club.”

“I dance, have a little to drink.” The immediacy of Greg’s response made Nick swing his head back, his mouth falling open. “Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I leave with someone, like any other club.” Greg hurried as he said the rest, but he got it out clear enough.

Leaving with someone. Nick’s mind stuck on that, like he knew it would, now, and then he tossed his head, pushing that away for later, wondering how far he could go until Greg would get pissed at him. How much could he push until Greg would leave? He leaned forward slightly, staring so hard he could see his breath raise goosebumps on Greg’s skin.

“But not tonight.”

“No.” Greg admitted quietly, and Nick felt his mind stick on that too, that Greg could be quiet.

“Tonight you’re here with me.” Greg’s eyes really got wide at that, but he still wasn’t moving.

One of Nick’s hands was suddenly in his field of vision. He watched it reach out, watched his hand run along the bottom edge of the collar. The leather was warm from Greg’s skin, hard leather that gave only a little when he increased the pressure.

Greg’s pulse jumped next to his hand, and Nick’s finger slid to skin to feel that too, not quite daring to trace a path over the faint shine of burn scars.

Greg swallowed and when he spoke his voice was high, the lie obvious. “You know, it doesn’t mean anything…the collar.”

“Yes it does.” Greg’s head turned and Nick looked up in time to meet his eyes. It meant everything that shouldn’t happen, everything that nice, normal people didn’t do and weren’t supposed to want to. But there weren’t many nicer guys than Greg even if he always had been so open with his curiosity, his interest in things like this. Nick had just let himself ignore it, not because if nice, normal people did things like this, then nice and normal meant something totally different than what Nick had allowed himself to believe. Greg wearing that bit of leather…that meant that Greg wanted _things_ , that sometimes a funny, smart guy like Greg who fought so hard for respect at work was willing to give all that up with total strangers, become everything they’d made fun of back in his fraternity. That he would bend over and take a few whacks with his ass in the air, begging for it, begging for more, hard and squirming. That sometimes Greg was someone’s willing little bottom bitch boy

It meant that Greg was a freak, and Nick…

“Do they hurt you?” The collar was stiff, the metal studs cool, seeming cooler when his hand grazed Greg’s skin again. Nick let his hand dip down so he could run his fingers along Greg’s exposed collarbone, glancing up at Greg’s short, shocked breath. That sound at the light touch made Nick scowl, stopping his hand for one second. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“…Wouldn’t ask you to,” Greg whispered, squeezing a breathless laugh out, the words quiet.

Nick’s fingers found the neckline of the t-shirt and traced it once, stretching a little to reach Greg’s shoulders. There was only the hint of Greg’s body underneath the cotton, the suggestion of skin leaving him wondering how Greg had ever left that club alone dressed like this. If he’d worn this to the lab, Nick might have noticed, might have made some lame attempt like he was now.

“I…this probably isn’t how they do things there, huh?” His face was burning. Nick took his hand away, set it carefully in his lap. His skin felt stretched tight under his jeans, his blood pounding beneath his palm. Just listening to himself made him cringe, like it mattered, what was normal in a place like that?

“You were…” Greg’s voice cracked and Nick was grinning softly before he could think better of it. “You were doing fine, Nick.” Greg glanced at him and then looked away, to the damn T.V.

“Yeah?” Nick’s mouth was open, and he knew he sounded about as eager as he had used to be about promotions. Too eager, Grissom had said, obviously uncomfortable, and maybe Grissom had known something about him Nick hadn’t. Grissom was smart; he would have noticed if Nick’s eyes had lingered, if Nick had worked a little too hard for his approval. There was probably a lot Nick had been blind to that Grissom had seen clearly, like how hard Greg had been working, if Greg had been watching him, the same impatient longing in his eyes that was there now even though he wasn’t moving.

Nick licked his lips, felt his heart beat skip and then pound back into rhythm.

“Greg,” he whispered, putting his hands beneath his legs and pressing them tightly to the couch. Greg’s head came up, spikes of hair as alert and tense as his expression. “Come here.”

Just that, and while his words were ringing in his ears, the T.V. light shifted to just vague shapes, outlining Greg’s arm, and Greg’s hand snaking across the distance as the cushion next to Nick dipped low.

His side was suddenly burning heat, heavy with the feel of Greg, close.

But he wasn’t moving away, wasn’t getting up or pushing anything away from him. Greg’s fingertips were soft on his cheek, careful, and Nick held his breath as his face was urged gently to the side.

“You’re having a heart attack, aren’t you?” Greg wasn’t smiling even if it sounded like he was. Nick glimpsed those painted eyes, and then closed his own when Greg leaned in.

Greg’s thumb was at the edge of his mouth, salt he could taste before he even moved his tongue, Greg’s breath trickling across his lips, too many things to think on or analyze, to feel, just for one moment, and then Greg’s lips were dragging across his.

It was like the slick sweet sting of razors on his skin, sharp through his blood, making him gasp and shake a little, his body responding as though Greg had somehow become dangerous. It was just Greg, he reminded himself, holding still for second at the implication of pressure, Greg holding back. And Greg _was_ holding back, that was something to think about, to distract him from this, but then he was inching his head forward and breathing out, shocked when Greg just inhaled, making his air _their_ air. Then maybe Greg’s eyes closed, or his did, and his mouth opened.

Greg still had one hand on his chest, barely touching him but holding him still, like Greg thought he might run for the hills. But then Greg must be able to feel his heart, the way it was racing. He moved, and Nick’s eyes came open, his tongue coming out to lick his mouth as Greg pulled back.

“Maybe I should go to bed.” Greg was staring at him, at his mouth maybe, and at the edge of his vision, Nick could see Greg make a slight gesture with his other hand. If Nick hadn’t already been hot, he might have turned red. Instead he pulled in a breath through his nose, digging his fingers into the couch.

Greg in his guest room. Greg on the other side of that wall, so hot from this that he was jerking off, jacking it to thoughts of this, of _Nick_ , his hand moving under that skirt. Maybe he had before, his hand wrapped around morning wood, biting his lip to keep quiet just a foot or so from where Nick was still sleeping, safely behind that wall.

Nick’s mouth was dry, one of his hands slipping out from under him only to freeze on the bare skin of Greg’s knee.

“Don’t…don’t go.” Nick jerked his head up, ignoring Greg’s small frown of confusion because Greg didn’t move. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers, spreading them out over warm skin sprinkled with hair.

He must have looked surprised, because Greg was laughing, chuckling softly.

“What? I’m not in drag.” As though a skirt didn’t equal drag. Nick scowled, jerking his hand farther up, his breath catching loudly to feel the edge of the skirt against his knuckles. “I mean…” Greg’s laugh dropped off, his words coming slowly, and Nick narrowed his gaze to the short, fast breaths escaping Greg’s mouth before he let his fingers slip further down the inside of one thigh, smirking a little at how Greg’s voice jumped up. “I’m…hardly…I’m hardly going to shave my legs.”

“And if I asked you to?” There was no way he has just asked that question, and there was no way that Greg swallowed and ducked his head, not quite hiding his fluttering pulse.

“Whatever you want.” Greg’s eyes couldn’t seem to stay steady on him. Not until Nick cleared his throat. He was shaking, knew Greg could feel it, wanted to tell Greg not to offer him that.

“I don’t want you to shave your legs.” He probably looked like an idiot; he knew he sounded like one. His laugh was too loud but Greg was laughing too and didn’t seem to care.

“Well thank you for that.” Greg’s grin was a little relieved suddenly, only a little, his face glowing as he seemed to reconsider Nick, not moving from his awkward position.

He was breathing steady, his breath moist on Nick’s neck, and Nick forgot his smile, his lips parting as he dropped his head back. Greg’s breath on his neck. It made him wonder distantly if this was why Greg had complained when Nick had stood close behind him, his chest to Greg’s back, his shoulders, close enough to bend down and inhale the chemical scent of the lab that lingered in Greg’s hair sometimes, to hear Greg’s huffy remarks about how Einstein would never have thought of the theory of relativity if he’d had the distraction of someone breathing down his neck all the time, and how hard it was to get DNA results under those conditions. Nick hadn’t really cared about DNA results, not in those moments. He’d wanted…he wanted…

Greg knew so much more than him here. Nick shot a look to the side and saw Greg’s mouth sneaking into a smug smile of his own. He was flushed and out of breath, but definitely smirking. If his terrible, loud music had been on, he would have been dancing. Or what he called dancing anyway.

“Could you…move in a little closer?” He couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud like that, but Greg only gave him a second and then his hand was on Nick’s chest, resting over his heart as Greg dipped his head again to kiss beneath his ear.

Nick’s fingers curled around something rough to the touch, Greg’s hand doing the same to his shirt. Greg was kissing his neck, and as weird as that fact was to acknowledge, it didn’t compare to the heat of Greg’s opened mouth, the sweep of his tongue, leaving behind shivery, wet strips of skin that made Nick push against the hand on his chest, trying to sit up only to lie back down and wait for more.

“You want that, huh?” Greg sighed the question, barely pausing to inhale before his lips were forming tight circles on the skin over his throat, his fast, urgent pulse. He sucked gently, making the blood throb up, heavy at the surface. Along his carotid. Under his ear. Down by his shoulder. Taking his fucking time, like he’d thought about this before.

Nick’s splayed his fingers, forgetting about the fabric he’d been holding as he angled his head back, turning into Greg’s mouth. Maybe that was dumb, but it didn’t feel that way, not when Greg’s mouth fell open as though Nick had surprised him again and Nick got to lick shiny, swollen lips before slipping his tongue between them.

He made a noise, pushing up. The spikes of Greg’s hair were amazingly soft, his face smooth. He could feel it against both of his palms as he held Greg still, the space between them burning and wet. There was waxy gloss on his taste buds for a moment, beer and vodka, and then sweet vibrations of Greg sounds, eager shocked little noises from Greg’s throat as Nick kissed him, Greg’s hands clenching and unclenching on his chest. Maybe he was as surprised as Nick was here. Maybe that didn’t matter.

There was scar tissue next to the buzzed hair at Greg’s neck, and Nick’s fingers traced that before cupping the leather collar curled so tightly into Greg’s skin, using that to urge Greg back. He nearly stopped at how quickly Greg leaned back for him, how easy it was to kiss Greg like this, Greg as yielding as a woman was supposed to be.

Dizzy and hot, he pulled his mouth away and opened his eyes. He was still close to Greg, practically cheek to cheek, his hand still cupping the back of Greg’s head, and he frowned in the direction of the kitchen, breathing hard. Greg’s shaky breath was warm on his cheek, and gloss probably shining on Nick’s lips now.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Greg’s joke might have been funnier if Greg hadn’t been so still and tense, if Nick hadn’t felt his pulse with the fingers caressing the nape of Greg’s neck. That had been instinct, habit, taking over like that.

“I don’t…” Nick gritted his teeth but made himself look into Greg’s face, at his eyes and not his darkened cheeks and panting mouth. Even without gloss, his mouth had always been like want and temptation combined. “I’m don’t know what I’m doing here, G.”

Greg’s eyes widened and then he swallowed audibly.

“Keep doing what you were doing.” Greg bobbed his head and raised his eyebrows, and Nick’s hand automatically petted his exposed skin, his mouth falling open just a bit to see how Greg’s eyes dipped closed for a moment at that.

“Try… Pretend…” Greg’s voice was dropping, getting thick, and Nick traced the top ridges of Greg’s spine, stopping at the line of Greg’s shirt. “Pretend I’m a girl.”

If Greg were a girl he would have kept on kissing him, would have slid his hands under that skirt and between his legs. He would have pushed that skirt up and slid down and buried himself there until Greg was clawing at the cushions and crying for him.

Nick let out a shuddery breath, flicking his eyes away at the confusing jumble of images, the aching throb of his cock. If Greg had wanted to calm him down, it wasn’t working. He looked back, wondered if Greg could see all that on his face.

“But you’re not a girl Greg,” he leaned in to insist, his voice dropping too. Greg’s eyebrows went all the way up, his fingers drumming across Nick’s chest and Nick considered trying to guess why Greg was so pleased all of the sudden.

“You noticed. I told Hodges you weren’t as dumb as he thought.”

“Oh man. Do not bring up Hodges now.” Nick ducked his head to laugh. It was laugh or cry, and Texas boys did not cry, even if, it turned out, they did kiss their male friends sometimes. Only Greg could have made Nick laugh in a moment like this, tense with the realization that he wanted to fuck Greg Sanders within an inch of his life. Nick raised his head to find Greg watching him and smiling. “I mean it,” he warned softly, growing quiet. Greg just nodded, eagerly was the only way to describe it.

“Whatever you say.”

On purpose or not, Nick found himself going still, leveling a serious look at Greg and working his jaw.

“And you’ll enjoy that?” Even he could hear the doubt in his voice over the rush in his ears, all the blood leaving his brain. Greg tilted his head back to stare at Nick so hard he could have mapped his DNA.

Nick stopped his wandering fingers and moved to pull his hand away.

Greg’s fingers clamped around his wrist only to let go the second Nick raised his eyes. Greg’s gaze was bright in the darkness. Then he dropped it, seeming almost shy. Maybe it was the makeup that made his lashes full and thick against his cheeks, his color high, but Nick’s mind rewound back to the thoughts of Catholic schoolgirl porn, bad, bad women in tiny plaid skirts, innocent faces framed by wickedly spiked hair and the implied sin of a dog collar.

He swallowed, mouth dry, jeans tight.

“It’s the job of a good CSI to investigate, right?” Greg’s voice was low, reasonable. He didn’t wait for the obvious answer. “A Level Three doesn’t know that?” He licked his lips at the joke and Nick felt his tongue dart out too, to mimic the action. Greg watched him with round eyes. “Let me…” For a second Greg seemed to forget his words. “Let me show you.”

Nick actually forgot how to breathe for a moment. Greg was not begging. Greg could not be begging.

One hand fell to his lap, heavy on stretched denim, and he slid his thumb, just a little, jumping at the feeling. Greg could see that too, the hardness along his thigh, the ache in his shoulders as he held himself still, but when he looked at Greg, Greg was staring at him through his lashes, his hands on the couch now, ready to move at a word from Nick. Ready and willing to drop to his knees.

His heart was too loud; Greg was going to hear.

Nick blinked at the thought. That didn’t matter, not when Greg knew everything else.

“Greg…” he frowned for a second, then slid his hands slowly to his sides. “Come here.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t Greg close the gap between them to renew his suction on his neck. Nick got out one gasp at that before Greg went further, his side nothing but the pressing heat of Greg’s body.

Greg’s mouth was making neat, hard little circles that were going to bruise, and bruise bad. Greg hickeys, Nick’s mind supplied the nickname while he sat there and let himself be marked, his dick twitching with each pull, each echo of slight pain. Greg’s mouthed the hollow of his throat, right there in front for the world to see, and his slightly panicked “Fuck!” didn’t seem to matter. Greg just skipped over to pretend to bite at his ear, laughing breathlessly, and Greg’s laugh shouldn’t have been as hot as the hand splayed over one nipple.

It didn’t take long for that to move too, curling in a hungry grasp as Greg arched up a little, pressing hard kisses to Nick jaw. Short nails scraped over the sensitive peak, accidentally maybe, the first time. Maybe it was Nick’s soft exclamation that gave him away, that made Greg drag his nails across his chest, leaving ripples of something sharp even through his shirt.

He tried to speak and swallowed his words, closing his eyes briefly at how Greg’s mouth followed that, the swipe of his tongue over his Adam’s apple.

Greg wasn’t laughing anymore, the muscles of the legs pressed to Nick humming with tension as he held himself up, hot, bare skin next to Nick’s denim.

Nick’s hands flew out, knocking the remote to the floor, not that he cared. He put his hand flat on his leg and felt his cock jump. “Greg.” He didn’t know why he said the name, but didn’t care either. Greg exhaled and swept his hand down and back up, still curled so that it brought Nick’s shirt out of his jeans, exposing his stomach.

Nick’s eyes opened, his entire body burning as Greg’s fingertips found the soft, nearly invisible hairs at his navel.

“Oh man.” Greg spoke for him, whispers of his hair against Nick’s lips as he sucked another mark onto Nick’s collarbone. He was leaning over Nick now in a way that had to be uncomfortable, if not painful. Then the tickle at his mouth was gone and Nick felt sharp suction at his nipple, damp through black cotton. His fingers spread wide and he reached out, sliding his hand back into Greg’s hair, curving around his skull. Greg Sanders’ mouth was at his nipple and Greg was murmuring something in between the teasing strokes of his tongue.

His short laugh stopped Greg and for five beats of Nick’s crazy fast heartbeat, he considered trying to explain.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he managed instead, not quite closing his eyes to imagine what else Greg wanted to show him.

“You always wear such tight clothes.” Greg whined into his chest, the remark out of nowhere until Nick felt him pulling at his shirt. Greg lifted his head slightly, moving under Nick’s chin. Nick lifted his head without thinking, adjusting easily for Greg’s vibrant motions.

“And…?” He was not embarrassed. He couldn’t still be having this conversation. Greg popped his head up and Nick’s gaze immediately fell to his mouth, dark and wet and smiling. Then he looked to his eyes. Yeah, Greg was pleased.

“…Always tell when the lab is cold…” Greg was smirking now and Nick blinked. “Still there?” he wondered while Nick gaped at him. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Nick refused to acknowledge his blush at that, just raising one eyebrow.

“Love-Machine Sanders, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Greg’s hands were stroking absently down over his bare stomach, making Nick shiver. “I’m the king of forensic conferences, baby.”

“Really?” His quiet question wiped the smirk from Greg’s face and then Greg was serious, studying him through his lashes, and Nick decided that it wasn’t the makeup that made them so gorgeous. He couldn’t stop staring, but Greg didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, maybe not the _king_. And please, no queen jokes.” Greg was nervous again, babbling. Nick let his hand slide free of soft spikes, let it fall to Greg’s cheek. He dragged his thumb through the sparkles along one cheekbone, watched it come to rest on Greg’s mouth, silencing him.

He thought about making a joke about Greg finally being quiet, but Greg’s eyes were hopeful, his body so tense, shoulders hunched awkwardly almost up to his ears. Some people might have said he looked too eager; he wasn’t even trying to hide what he was feeling, what he wanted to do, with Nick.

Nick moved his thumb, felt it heavy against Greg’s lower lip, tingling at Greg’s sigh.

“You were doing fine, G,” he whispered, shoving aside the thought of this Greg, this private Greg, let loose in clubs or at conferences. Greg raised his head and Nick realizing he was grinning. His grin just got wider. “Better than fine.” The brilliance of Greg’s smile was almost blinding in the dim light, but Nick didn’t drop his gaze.

“Maybe…” He could hear himself pausing, almost stuttering, and scowled. Greg’s smile froze and that wasn’t something Nick needed to see. He was admittedly freaked out by a lot of things, but he wasn’t about to leave someone, but especially Greg, hanging.

“Maybe I’ll have a talk with Grissom about not sending you to conferences alone anymore.” That made Greg’s smile expand into a little laugh, and when Greg bent his head to press a kiss to his chest, Nick heard a strange buzzing in his ears, kind of like applause.

Greg was still kissing him, soft touches through his shirt now, his body stretching sideways to half-cover him, and Nick still had only one hand free. The other was stuck between them.

“So…” Greg asked, his mouth hovering warm above him, so close Nick could feel the words rumbling right down to his cock. There was no way he could shut his eyes, even if it impossible to bend his head enough to see what Greg was doing, or about to do.

“Uh, yeah?” His voice was rough. Greg’s response was to lick across his abdomen, over his belly button, down to his belt. Nick jerked, his fingers tightening for a moment. “Yeah?” he said again, his voice even lower, expecting the shocking thrill of Greg’s pleased little swipe under his ribs. He laid his head back and huffed his disbelief that he was stretching up, just a little, and waiting for Greg to lick his stomach, hoping, worried that Greg would finally go just a bit lower.

“Who’ll be attending these conferences with me, if I can’t go alone?” Greg was out of breath but still way too rational. Nick’s fingers searched for Greg’s mouth, smooth over firm lips, lips that opened, taking them in someplace warm, and when Greg started sucking, Nick went tense and stiff and hard as a fucking rock.

Greg’s tongue wrapped around each finger, rasping and hot on the calluses, and if he looked, he knew Greg would be watching him, giving him that flirtatious under his eyelashes look that had always promised this.

“It had better be me, Greggo.” Nick clenched his jaw and _looked_ , twitching at the tease of Greg’s teeth nipping at his fingertips. Greg flashed a grin before releasing his fingers with a wet little pop and then sucking in his thumb.

“Oh my God.” Greg was offering to suck his cock and he was an idiot because he was not saying a damn thing. Nick opened his mouth, and shut it again when he couldn’t think of the right words. Everyone else had probably correctly read those hot-eyed glances from Greg, but not him, and now he was just sitting here, except he wasn’t just sitting, because he could feel waves of tension rolling through him, growing tighter and sharper, making him shift and slip down against the cushions. It was like his body was giving Greg permission to do whatever he wanted.

Jesus, wasn’t Greg the one in the collar? Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Except Greg wanted what Nick wanted, and he just wanted Greg to be happy. Was Greg happy? His thoughts were running in circles and he not thinking straight there, and that should have made him laugh, but his hands were twitching at his sides, itching for the scratch of plaid wool, and if he pressed, asked, he could lift up that skirt and see if Greg was hard under there. That was sick, wasn’t it? Definitely not Texas normal to find a thick, hard cock under a flirty girl’s skirt, but Nick had a feeling it was Greg normal, and then went rigid as he wondered if Greg was wearing underwear. The image flashed in his mind, white, lacy panties, innocent over pounding meat, and he swallowed, thinking he had been watching the wrong kind of porn.

He yanked his trapped hand up wit sudden force, blinking when the back of his hand hit the skirt. The hem was falling low with Greg arched over him, and Nick moved his hand through the air, letting the fabric rush along his skin until suddenly the cloth was gone and his fingertips were skimming along the exposed skin of Greg’s thigh.

Greg made a noise against his stomach, kind of surprised, so Nick stopped holding his breath and spread out his fingers, frowning faintly at the prickly hair, warm flesh and toned muscle, the back of Greg’s upper thigh, the slope leading to his ass.

Greg was frozen now, holding himself as perfectly still as Nick had tried to do, letting Nick slide his fingers up beneath the wool. Nick kept his eyes on the fuzzy outline of Greg’s hair, not turning his head until his fingers caught the edge of the skirt and dragged the fabric up.

The shiver that ran down Greg’s back was almost delicate, strange but right, because Nick was baring Greg’s ass despite the hands clenching anxiously in his lap. And Greg wasn’t moving, was letting him, even when it became obvious that Greg wasn’t wearing anything at all under the plaid.

“You went out like this?” Nick’s voice was rasping, his accent stronger despite how he wanted to control it, and Greg shivered again, not so delicately. There was only one reason Nick could think of for Greg to go out without any underwear beneath his fun little skirt.

His hand flattened, his palm curved over Greg’s ass, and Greg was breathing hard against his stomach, laughing incredulously, almost nervously.

“You can’t be serious.” He shook his head. “Nick Stokes is not about to spank me.”

Nick shut his mouth the second he realized his jaw was slack, shifting at how hot he was, burning, twitching at the idea of what Greg was saying. He shook his head, but it was still there behind his eyes, the picture perfect postcard of Greg on all fours in front of him, his ass just like this, but pink, as pink as the blushes they all teased Nick about. Pink because Nick had just…

He couldn’t breathe for a full minute. Then he sucked in air and counted stars.

“You sound like…you sound almost like you’re daring me to, G.”

“Daring you to what?” Greg couldn’t catch his breath either, but he was still teasing, using soft laughs to cover the tension that had him trembling.

“You into spankings too?” _With those strangers in your club_ , Nick wanted to ask it and couldn’t. It was enough to imagine it, the anonymous figures hurting Greg for their own pleasure, never caring about his.

He brought his hand up and then back down quickly, no harder than what might happen in a locker room, and fuck whatever Greg would have to say about _that_.

Greg jerked forward, his breath hissing through his teeth. Nick’s palm tingled. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, not caring if he was flushed or not.

Greg’s skin was warmer now, the color hidden in the dim light, but Nick moved his hand, smoothing out a small, soothing circle over shivering, hot skin. As he did, Greg dropped his head back down, pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss to Nick’s stomach.

Whatever he wanted, Greg had said. Nick let out a deep, soul-shaking sigh, feeling how Greg’s muscles tightened when he moved his hand, how Greg shifted.

“No more going to clubs like this, right, Greg?” His mouth was dry as he asked, and he raised his hand again.

Greg nodded silent agreement and then answered anyway. “Oh yeah,” he whispered and Nick smacked him, smacked his ass— _spanked_ him— _again_ , harder this time. His cock twitched at Greg’s little moan into his skin, the way Greg turned his face to nuzzle his lap, his mouth stretched hot over black denim, outlining what Greg wanted, what he could have.

Nick ached, stinging and raw inside his jeans, so fucking close to Greg’s mouth, and somewhere under the skirt, Greg was the same. His palm itched, but he denied it with a frown, shaking his head.

“Greg.” His voice was firm, louder, and Greg made that same shocked, hungry sound against his thigh, his back shaking as he held still. “Greg,” he said again and Greg’s head came up. His lips were full like he had bitten them, wet. There was obvious color in his cheeks too, a dazed light in his wide eyes, and then he grinned.

“Come here,” Nick ordered around his small, relieved sigh, watching the surprise take Greg’s face, suspicion and worry clouding it. But after a moment Greg was moving sliding up and forward, swinging a leg over where Nick was sitting until he was straddling his lap.

He wasn’t close enough, not at all, and Nick didn’t care if Greg was holding back, he didn’t care about any of it, Greg trying to be sensitive. And he should care, he had just spanked his close friend and he had no right to demand anything. His wouldn’t even form the words, so he reached out, grabbing at the hips still covered in flirty, teasing plaid and pulled Greg to him.

Greg’s mouth opened just as easily as before, better, Greg hesitating for less than a second before his hands were yanking at Nick’s short hair, almost pulling him up from the couch. He grunted, and didn’t care about that either, just pushed back against Greg’s lips, slid his tongue inside, breathing hard, jerking up at Greg’s crushed cries and the urgent thrusts against his lap.

Dizzy and hot and wet, so sweet, and that’s what he wanted, all of it, all of Greg, starting with the pretty, glossy, smart mouth that opened so easily for him.

His hips bucked up at the thought, his skin burning where Greg’s mouth had been, and then suddenly Greg’s mouth was gone, and he shivered at Greg’s breathless whispers in his ear, his lips on his cheek.

“I just want…” Greg only managed three words and then his mouth was back, quick, dragging messy kisses across Nick’s lips, his jaw, his throat. “Let me,” he begged into Nick’s shoulder, and his hand slid down to cover the length Nick’s erection through his jeans.

He couldn’t think, didn’t know what to say until Greg lifted his head to look at him, his eyes challenging, his lips bruised. “I’ll be good,” he promised, his words too soft for the playful edge he probably meant them to have, his eyes too bright.

Nick shook his head, trying to be gentle, trying to be like everything those people weren’t.

“Whatever…” His voice was rough, but he didn’t take the time to clear it. “Whatever you want, G,” he promised in return, something in his chest tightening at Greg’s heavy stare. Hungry, Greg looked hungry, giving him that look under his eyelashes that he had pretended to never really understand. Greg looked like he was starving, and he wasn’t about to waste time now.

Nick jerked back into the couch in surprise at the almost painful feel of a sliding grip moving over the denim in his lap. It was rough, hot friction, like Greg’s legs, moving over him, Greg’s mouth held over his stomach as Greg dropped between his legs like some kind of hot tramp, dropped onto his knees on the floor in front of the couch, and looked up at him, gave him that fucking look one last time, like Nick was going to stop him now.

His guts felt twisted, knotted; he was probably shaking. He put his hands out then settled them back at his sides, clutching at the couch cushions instead of gripping the swirling shades of Greg’s hair. He felt cold without Greg next to him. He felt like he was one fire, wanted to ask Greg if this is what burning felt like, but Greg was watching him and using his hands to undo his belt, to slide buttons and zippers open.

“Relax, Nick.” Greg’s breath ghosted over the damp fabric of his briefs, his voice unsteady. “Nick,” he said again, softly, not adding anything else, and then his fingers were moving under the white cotton and brushing against his hard, aroused cock.

Nick almost squeezed his eyes closed, but couldn’t make himself look away, watching when Greg paused. It wasn’t like Greg didn’t know by now what he had done to him,  
Like he couldn’t know what he did to Nick even if Nick hadn’t admitted it before. But maybe he was surprised. He laughed to himself, a sudden quiet laugh, and curled his fingers around Nick’s dick, his other hand pushing aside cotton, yanking his jeans further down.

Nick shivered once at the cool air on his naked dick, the squeeze of Greg’s hand. Greg didn’t give him time for more, ducking his head and closing his mouth around his cock.

His tongue was greedy suction, tasting, swirling and Nick could imagine him swallowing, drinking down slick droplets, probing for more. Not a girl. Not anybody but Greg.

“Fuck!” His exclamation seemed loud in the quiet house, nothing to hammering of his heart, the hushed rasping of his jeans as he moved against the couch. He could hear Greg breathing and looked down, studying Greg in the bluish light from the TV. Greg sucking the head of his cock, shining, pink lips relaxing enough to slide down. He wasn’t using his hands, and Nick fought not to push up until Greg was swallowing him whole.

He didn’t want to hurt Greg, didn’t want to be like the others, the people who had taught Greg this. He wouldn’t; he made fists against the couch, his hips pushing up the slightest inch despite himself.

Greg made a sound deep in his throat, and Nick could feel shivers along already tight, hot flesh, his body arching with pure pleasure as Greg slid his mouth back down, slurping like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed it. He was hungry for it, he was going to make Nick come, make him come right now if he could, and Nick could feel the blush spread over every inch of his skin. He shook his head, staring as Greg sucked him down again, his tongue wet and slick, burning.

Greg was gorgeous, as gorgeous as he’d ever been, lush eyelashes brushing his pink cheeks, his hair looking like silk in the strange blue light, and his mouth…

“Fuck, Greg, please.” He could hear himself begging, didn’t know what he was begging for, his voice rough. He still wasn’t moving, trying not to grab fistfuls of spiky hair and thrust into Greg’s shameless mouth. And Greg was making him ache to push, moving his lips like he couldn’t decide whether to deep throat him or just suck until he came. And Nick wanted…he wanted to be all the way inside of that mouth. That tempting, wicked smart-ass mouth that had been teasing him for far too long.

He jerked up at the thought, shaking his head at Greg’s hungry little slurp, the embarrassing wet sounds of suction that he had never really let himself listen to before. It sounded dirty, as filthy as the sleaziest porno, but it was Greg, on his fucking knees, wanting him to come and come hard.

He held his breath, watching his cock disappear into Greg’s warm mouth, wanting to hear how Greg grunted softly around the weight on his tongue, how Greg adjusted to take in more of him, until suddenly his lips were right _there_ , right against his body.

He was sitting up before he could stop himself, his hands in the air before they came down gently on Greg’s shoulders, holding Greg still as Nick bent over him. His fingers twitched, reaching up into the gelled mess of Greg’s hair, his thumbs dragging over Greg’s burning, hollow cheeks, and he counted Greg’s careful inhalations of air, letting himself just feel all of it. Greg’s mouth, his tongue, his breath, his hair.

He moved and felt his palms smoothing through bleached blonde, rich dark brown, petting.

“Slow is fine, Greg,” he murmured as he felt Greg’s trembling. He wouldn’t hurt Greg for the world, Greg had to know that. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For all of a moment Greg was still, and then Nick closed his eyes, his head going back at the soft, slow way Greg’s mouth caressed him, moving up, down, exquisite pressure with every movement.

His mouth was open, he was panting, his hands shaking as he held Greg, touched his hair. He ought to let go, he was arched close over Greg, way too close, but he couldn’t let go now that he had him, couldn’t do anything but gasp and swear, twitch up into Greg’s mouth.

He rocked up slowly, heat pouring through him when Greg took in more of his cock without complaining, when he should have. And he thought of those others in his clubs again, saw them behind his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told Greg again, wetting his lips, opening his eyes and looking down. He could just see Greg’s back, how he was sitting so prettily on his knees, the skirt falling modestly around his ass, his head bobbing up and down.

“Greg,” his voice was getting rough. He rasped Greg’s name, pressing into wet heat, moving faster, his hands falling back down to Greg’s shoulders. He grabbed at t-shirt fabric, trying not to push, pushing anyway, urging Greg down onto his cock. And Greg let him, still slow, so fucking slow. “Greg,” he tried, his voice dropping at Greg’s eager hands grasping at his thighs. “Greg, I want…” Whatever he wanted, that’s what Greg had promised. “Good.” Greg had promised that too.

He twitched at the stroke of Greg’s tongue, the feathery light touch of Greg’s hands on him suddenly, closing gently around the shaft, Greg sliding up to lick around the wet slit at the head of his cock, making needy, pleased little noises when Nick grabbed at his shoulders and held tight.

He rocked up, and for the first time Greg’s hand pressed hard on his legs, forcing him back as Greg took his time, sucking his cock the way he kissed, messy and sweet, his lips a firm circle on just the crown. This was Greg taking his time, this was Greg thorough, and he should have known better than to ask for slow. He was shaking, wanting to push up, pleading with his jerking hips for whatever Greg would let him have. His dick was throbbing around Greg’s hand, and Greg was licking slowly at the head, enjoying himself. Greg was loving it.

“Greg, fuck.” Nick was begging, he could hear it distantly in his voice. He shouldn’t have demanded this, shouldn’t have… He couldn’t think enough to finish the thought, his mind narrowing to just insistent pressure, the rough, wet tongue underneath his cock, Greg’s lips, lush, wet, tight.

Those eyes watching him, daring him, he had dreamed of them. Of this.

“Please, Greg.” Greg had been the one begging, Greg was the one wearing the leather that meant he had wanted to. But Nick’s voice was loud, fading in and out of his hearing, that going like his vision, blue light and shadows. The light, the heat, the noise, it was inside, pushing out with every tiny thrust against Greg’s tongue. Greg hummed, sensations rumbling through Nick’s cock with the small noise.

He couldn’t breathe and clutched blindly at Greg’s shoulders, his fingers creeping up until he was grasping at Greg’s jaw, his ears, wanting more. “Please, Greg.” He shook his head, or thought he did, licking salt from his upper lip, wishing he could hear Greg speak, tell him again that he could have whatever he wanted. He had wanted this, and Greg had known it. And he had…he had asked for slow.

He could have almost smiled at Greg’s evil genius, but his jaw was clenched too tight, his body tense as he fought to the pull of Greg’s mouth. And that was stupid, as stupid as anything else he’d done around Greg, because he didn’t need to fight. He knew it; Greg was offering him something else here with every soft, sticky, greedy kiss.

Greg was the one on his knees, but Greg was going to make him ask for it.

For a moment, Nick clenched his jaw even harder, dragging his hands up along Greg’s sparkling cheekbones, through his crazy hair. Then let go, letting his hands fall to Greg’s shoulders. He wanted to lean back, to look into Greg’s eyes, and then couldn’t. He licked his lips, tasted salt again, getting dizzy as he wondered if that’s what Greg tasted too, because it tasted good, not wrong at all.

He didn’t know what else was going on now, wasn’t sure he cared. He had promised.

He grunted, and closed his eyes, his back bowed, need like white-hot flames, like Greg’s tongue, licking at him, making him shiver, push up against Greg’s hand while Greg kept on denying him.

“I’m sorry, Greg.” The words clawed their way out of his throat, and he opened his eyes, stared blindly at the T.V. He was panting, twitching in Greg’s mouth. “Please…” His voice cracked as Greg’s tongue curled around his cock. “Please just let me…” He couldn’t make himself say it, not out loud, his skin on fire, but it was enough.

He could hear Greg shifting, felt Greg’s hand smoothing over the shaking muscle of his thigh, and then the tight grip on his cock relaxed, and a damp, sweaty palm slid up to meet the circle of Greg’s lips.

“Jesus,” hearing himself should have been shocking, but he didn’t care. He jerked his hips up and Greg let him, let him push into the welcoming heat of Greg’s mouth, his hand, and he was going to come, he could feel it, could imagine it, pouring hot down Greg’s throat, splattering against his lips.

Nick’s mouth opened, his throat went dry at the image, the sensation, the tongue moving sweetly, roughly, underneath his cock, pushing into his throat. Greg breathed, Greg swallowed and Nick could feel it echo through his cock up his spine, explode in his brain.

“Greg,” he thought he was speaking, repeating Greg’s name as Greg squeezed him, his gorgeous mouth taking in all of him, muscles getting tight around his cock as Greg swallowed, and he slid into Greg, gasping at the first push out of him, the fever rocking his body as he came, gasping more when Greg kept swallowing, gorgeous, perfect Greg swallowing and thirsty for more.

He fell back against the couch, shuddering to feel Greg’s mouth gone, his dick tingling and spent. He thought his eyes were closed, and that maybe his mouth was still hanging open. But he put out a hand, searching, and his fingers brushed against the warmth of Greg’s skin, Greg’s fingers he thought.

“Greg?” Nick asked, not bothering to open his eyes, still not certain they weren’t already open and maybe Greg had blinded him. And there was something he would have trouble explaining at work, blinded by blowjob. He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t find the energy yet.

“Uh…yeah?” Greg’s voice was unsteady and for that Nick struggled to open one eye, then two, blinking to see that Greg was standing by the couch, looking uncertainly down at him. Even in the darkness Nick could see the splash of color on his face, the bruised push of his lips, the way Greg wasn’t quite looking at him.

Jesus. He almost said it out loud again. Greg had just sucked his dick. Greg had just given him a spectacular blowjob that he had begged for. Pretend I’m a girl, Greg had told him, but not once had he forgotten that it was a guy, that it was Greg. He had wanted it to be Greg.

He must have been grinning, because Greg’s head came up, the outline of his spikes messed up, disturbed by Nick’s hands. And Greg had liked it.

“Oh man, I think I love you,” Nick told him, about to laugh until he saw Greg’s eyes widen and he realized exactly what he’d said. Greg’s tongue darted out, licking at his lips, and Nick narrowed his eyes, wishing he had his glasses, not that they could have helped him see through the dark to what Greg was thinking. “I mean…”

“Oh I know what you mean,” Greg interrupted him, clearing his throat to sound serious. “I…” he paused, inhaling, and Nick held still, shutting his mouth a little too late. “…am the _shit_ ,” Greg finished, his face splitting in wide smile. Nick let out a deep breath and made himself look up, but he had the feeling that if Greg had looked at him like this at the lab he might have caught on a lot sooner. “Love-Machine Sanders!” Greg did the rock and roll symbol with both hands for a moment, sticking out his tongue in a way that seemed far more obscene than it did when that guy from KISS did it. Maybe because Nick could still feel where it had been a minute ago.

He coughed, just grateful that Greg had managed to kill his blush response for the night. Because the guys from KISS wore outfits almost as interesting as Greg’s, and if Greg also secretly painted his face white and black he did _not_ need to hear about it right now.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick reached out and grabbed one of Greg’s hands on its way back down to his sides, then he yanked just hard enough to bring Greg down. A knee landed on his leg as Greg tumbled back next to him, Greg’s hands slamming into the soft fabric of the couch on either side of Nick. He could hear the surprised, breathless _oomph_ Greg made next to his ear, and then Greg’s outright laughter at Nick’s little grunt of pain when Greg’s bony knee moved _across_ his leg instead of off it.

And he was not laughing with him. Because even if he’d wanted to, he could suddenly feel the heat and length of Greg’s hard-on as Greg slid back to sit at his side, pressed against him. Just for a moment on his thigh and then it was gone, but if he turned his head, he knew he would see it, a definite outline pushing out that skirt in a way that was pretty hard to miss.

Greg was still laughing softly to himself, distracted, so Nick angled his head down and to the side, his mouth going a little dry to really the shape of Greg’s cock pushing against the plaid skirt. The size of it. That was a good handful right there.

“Oh man,” he whispered, wondering how Greg could just sit there, not even put a hand down there and take care of it himself like he’d offered to go do before. Not even closing his eyes wasn’t going to banish the image of Greg jerking off next to him now. Nick laid his head back against the couch, staring at the darkened ceiling, listening to himself breathe, to Greg’s laughter getting quieter.

Greg was right next to him, their thighs pressed together in a way that felt hot, but not uncomfortable. But it wasn’t Greg’s thigh that was the problem; it was something just a little to the right of his thigh that was leaving Nick tense and uncertain.

It was as easy to imagine as before, maybe even easier, because he didn’t have to imagine. He could just ask, and if Greg was still playing this game, then Greg would do it.

Greg was probably waiting for him to say something. He didn’t know if he was supposed to ask for something else, or just take it, though there was no way he could do that, even if he knew what he wanted. But he didn’t want to be rude, or disappoint Greg, or seem like he didn’t care, if a guy who recently spanked another guy was allowed to think things like that.

It was almost ridiculous. This was like another one of Greg’s games, and Greg knew something he didn’t _and_ he was making up all the rules. So he was sitting on his couch with his dick hanging out because the guy next to him had just blown him, getting a little nervous because that same guy was hard underneath the skirt he was wearing.

Nick took a deep breath, his already faint smile getting fainter. Greg. Hard. Greg was hard. And there was no way he could do what Greg just did to him. There was no way.

“Greg,” he started, and turned to look at Greg but somehow Greg had turned without him noticing and was looking right at him. He was so still it was like he wasn’t breathing.

Greg was frowning, a slight frown of concentration maybe, except he wasn’t staring off into space, he was staring right back at Nick, and his chin was up. He was so close Nick could see the smeared lines of eyeliner at the corners of his eyes, the single sparkle caught in his eyelashes. He reached up without thinking about it, stopping his hand just before he touched Greg’s cheek. But Greg wasn’t moving, even if his eyebrows were still knotted in a displeased frown, so he ran his finger along the soft fringe until the sparkle stuck to his fingernail.

He pressed it to Greg’s cheek, surprised at how hot Greg’s skin was to the touch. Then he looked up into Greg’s eyes.

“I don’t need you to groom me, you know,” Greg pointed out. His expression looked fierce. If Nick hadn’t been on the wrong end of a gun before, he might have been scared. He spread out his fingers slowly, touching Greg like he had before but trying to be gentle.

“And it takes more than _that_ to hurt me,” Greg added, his tone completely unchanged, but he let out a loud breath, his breath smelling different than it had before. Nick’s mouth fell open as he realized why; he could almost feel the molecules landing on his tongue. He tried not to, then swallowed anyway, salivating at the different taste. His fingers were still moving, and he tried to think about something else, wanted to remember what he had going to ask Greg before he had turned around.

“Oh I know, I know.” That’s what he should have said, something kind of light and teasing, get Greg riled up to calm him back down. But he wasn’t saying anything, and Greg’s breath was coming faster, high voice getting higher.

“Nick…You know I was…it was just…” Greg couldn’t stop talking, and Nick opened his mouth again, catching the taste of himself again, his come in Greg’s mouth. He swallowed wetly again, thought about Greg drinking it all down, how he must have looked, muscles straining under the collar, his Adam’s Adam bobbing up and down; it wasn’t like with any girl he’d been with before. Maybe that’s why Greg was angry and scared and babbling.

Greg licked his lips and Nick dropped his eyes to his mouth. There was no trace of the gloss left, but Greg had never really needed it. Maybe those people in his clubs thought so, but Nick thought he looked just fine the way he looked everyday.

“Nick?” If he held Greg’s jaw carefully in his palms, he could touch the softer skin of Greg’s neck with his fingers, feel how he was shaking, just a little. Nick held his breath, trying not to hurt as he pulled Greg closer and kissed him. Greg’s lips were soft, wet with something sort of salty, not really bitter, and just for a second they trembled under his.

Greg spoke against his mouth, his word muffled, but he didn’t pull away, so Nick just kept on kissing him, trying to be light, trying to give Greg something as pretty as he was. He kept his hands still, stroking Greg’s skin with his thumbs, closing his eyes at Greg’s slow shudder, the way Greg suddenly fell forward, leaning into him. His mouth open, his head tilted back, giving Nick everything even though his pulse was jumping.

Nick’s hands tightened, and he shivered. He wanted to stretch up, lean down to kiss Greg, to press him back until Greg was beneath him on the couch and he could just go on kissing him for hours. He didn’t need to breathe, didn’t care if he ever tasted air again, not with Greg letting him do this. This was really happening, and that was something that should have occurred to him the second Greg had put his mouth around his cock, but he could only feel it now. It ripped through him like a hot knife, as sharp as the noises Greg had made while sucking him off, a burn that he should have felt before, even if it would have killed him.

It was killing him now, like suddenly he couldn’t get close enough to Greg. His hands were slipping, pawing over the silky feel of Greg’s expensive cotton, burying in his hair, pausing on his back to feel the demanding bass beat of Greg’s heartbeat. It was like the electric screams of Greg’s music, all those loud, daring songs about fame and sex and art, perfect bitches and saints, and suddenly he wanted to ask it, wanted to hear Greg say his name, scream it out until his voice was raw.

He’d never felt anything like he did tonight.

He pulled his mouth away with sudden force, holding still near Greg’s cheek, panting like he’d been running for miles. About the only thing that didn’t make it embarrassing was that he could hear Greg fighting to breathe normally too, and that he could feel Greg’s body practically vibrating, like the shocking hum that meant a page from the DNA lab, an excuse to visit Greg. God, he had let Greg make up excuses, hadn’t he?

“You always kiss like that?” Greg’s voice had a sly sound to it, like he’d tried to laugh but couldn’t quite make himself. He tapped his fingers against Nick’s chest, and Nick blinked a little to realize he hadn’t noticed when Greg had first put his hands there.

“Uh…” For a second he forgot the question and then he ducked his head down. Which meant his face was buried in Greg’s shoulder. He turned, frowning a little, but when he spoke his mouth brushed against the thin strip of leather. “Why?” The flavor in his mouth was warm and spicy and he exhaled. He brought his head up an inch, holding himself still because Greg was speaking, laughing softly again.

“I just want to know what I’m getting myself into…” Greg abruptly stopped laughing. “…I mean at all those…you know…conferences,” he finished, losing his cool like he always did. And for the first time in a while, Nick felt like laughing, so he smiled into Greg’s neck, shaking a little bit as he fought back his amusement.

Greg went tense; Nick could feel it under his hands and slid them down until he could feel where the t-shirt disappeared beneath the waistline of the skirt. He tugged gently and the shirt came free. His face was hot against Greg’s skin, and he kept on chuckling softly into Greg’s ear as he maneuvered his hands under the cotton, sliding a touch over Greg’s ribs.

“You have no idea, Greggo,” he said, low and rough, and it was way too late to be blushing, even if he couldn’t believe his ears. Because the idea of being in some crowded room full of people with Greg next to him, knowing that he had done this, that he could do it again, kicked him forward, and he lifted his face to inhale the scent of Greg’s hair. He didn’t know what he was doing exactly, decided it didn’t matter right now anyway, not with the noise Greg made when he did that, and how Greg turned toward him, wriggling when Nick yanked at his shirt.

He turned his head, his mouth open like he was going to say something, and Nick dropped down to brush their lips together, lingering when Greg actually shut up. His mouth was quiet, but his body was still moving, shifting into Nick’s hands, and when Nick brought them up, Greg lifted his arms, his eyes falling closed.

The heavy sounds of their breathing, the soft rustle of Greg’s t-shirt as Nick worked it up over his chest, that was something else, something softer than Greg’s rock music, like Patsy Cline drifting to the backseat of his dad’s old car on warm nights. He pulled away just enough to pull the shirt high over Greg’s head and toss it somewhere and then he was back, sliding his tongue into Greg’s mouth.

He shifted, sliding around until one knee was on the edge of the couch, and Greg was getting pushed back. The bare legs next to him opened up, the knees bending as Greg put a hand backward. It touched the top of the couch for one moment as Greg scooted back and tried to stay upright, and then it was wrapped around Nick’s neck, hauling him closer.

Greg’s shoulders were smooth under his palms, damp with sweat. Nick ran his fingertips down the length of Greg’s arms, then pressed his hands back to Greg’s chest, pressed them flat, sweeping blindly over the lines of Greg’s ribs, the indent of Greg’s stomach, staying on the thin trail of hair.

He let his hands follow it down, stopping at the rough fabric before scratching at the thick, soft hairs. Greg’s mouth opened wider, his lips pushing against his, and then there were hands pulling on his shoulders, grabbing handfuls of his shirt.

Nick tore his mouth away for air and then swooped down, pushing Greg back as he put his mouth on his chest, below his collarbone. Greg shivered just like he had, so he kissed another spot, climbing onto his knees on the couch and pressing forward.

He could feel the heat on either side of him, in front of him, and shifted, kissing another part of Greg, letting his hands roam over the flat chest. He’d never really been a breast man anyway.

He licked the taste from his mouth and moved up, grunting a little at how Greg had to lay back and turn his head. He could see Greg’s shoulders pressed to the arm of the other end of the couch now, feel Greg’s legs moving on both sides of him as Greg tried to keep up. If he was surprised at how fast Nick was moving all of the sudden, he wasn’t saying much about it.

“Oh my God, Nick.” Greg spoke breathlessly above his head, his hands falling to the cushions and then to Nick’s back. Nick was bent over him now, almost how Greg had been spread over him before. Greg’s body was restless and hot beneath him and it just seemed right to squeeze even closer, working between Greg’s thighs.

For a few seconds he froze, and then it just felt good to be leaning in to press kisses into Greg’s skin, with Greg’s hard cock pushing against his stomach. Not _quite_ the backseat of his dad’s old car, though he was kind of wishing he’d had some way of trying this then; he might have caught on to this sooner.

Greg’s head went back, his throat exposed except for the black and silver of his collar. Nick put his hands to the cushions and lowered his head. This time he put his open mouth over Greg’s neck, breathing a little faster at Greg’s quiet moans and licking carefully around the leather.

Greg’s hips jerked up, sliding his dick against him, and Greg’s hands gripped tighter at his back, yanking up his shirt even more; he could feel the trapped pull of it around his shoulders.

“This isn’t happening.” Greg sounded like he was praying to the ceiling and Nick had a flash of that Catholic schoolgirl porn, only it wasn’t starring some nameless girl anymore, because Greg would do that too, if he asked. Greg would do whatever he wanted, his open legs and little moans said that clear enough. Greg would bend over and take a few whacks, he’d beg for it, and even if it wasn’t what he should have wanted, Nick wanted him to anyway. He almost pulled back at the realization, but shook his head gently and stayed put. For now he just wanted to touch Greg and listen to the sounds Greg made as he fell to pieces.

Nick slid his tongue under the collar’s edge for a moment, then licked the salt from Greg’s throat to banish the tangy taste of the silver.

Greg was bent with his back curved so he could lean into the arm of the sofa. His skin still seemed to glow in the T.V. light, flushed, darker in places where Nick had kissed him. They’d both be marked tomorrow, for the world to see. Nick considered that as Greg dropped his head and looked at him with wide, stunned eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“Where did you get that thing?” He wanted to know. He _needed_ to know, and if he didn’t like the answer, Greg was taking it off.

“Huh?” Greg blinked, then glanced down at the very small space between them. “I was born with that,” he remarked after a pause, his eyebrows going up, and despite himself Nick almost laughed, the white tension leaving him in knots easing slowly away. Only Greg would take a moment like this and make a joke.

“This.” He put a hand to the collar, ran a touch around to the back where it fastened. He could _feel_ the goose bumps on Greg’s skin.

“Why? Want one for yourself?” Greg wondered, and even knowing he couldn’t be serious—Greg could _not_ be serious—Nick sucked in a breath. He wasn’t…he didn’t want that, whatever that felt like, having that restrictive pressure around his neck, bent to somebody else’s will. He just wanted to do whatever it took to make Greg happy, to please him and make him come too—and then bury himself deep inside him there wouldn’t even be space to breathe—and that shocking, hungry thought made him go still while Greg was talking. He barely heard the answer.

“I mean…you know how clubs are…or you don’t.” Greg started one thought and ended with another. “It’s just an accessory, really.” Greg was slipping with every word, one arm swinging around a little too late to pull him back up. If Nick scooted backward Greg would have slid down onto his back underneath him, but he couldn’t move yet, no matter how fast the idea made his blood run.

He lifted his chin instead, studying the picture Greg made, half-naked and crushed awkwardly between Nick and the couch, looking up at him so very carefully. Nick returned the look with interest. It wasn’t that he thought Greg was lying; it was just that he knew enough to know Greg’s look was calculating.

He lowered his voice. “Oh, really?” and shifted, pulling back. Greg immediately slid down, that skirt going in the opposite direction. Nick darted his eyes there, then flicked them back to Greg’s face.

Nick placed his hands on the warm skin of Greg’s legs, just above the knees, looking up again at Greg’s soft exclamation. Greg’s eyes were on his hands.

“I don’t think a fashion choice has anything to do with us…I mean _this_.” Greg argued even though he was short of breath and sporting a serious hard-on. Nick let his fingers creep down to the skirt’s hem.

“You don’t, huh?” he wondered, noticing how much smoother Greg’s skin was there above his knees, and then on the inside of his thighs. He would bet Greg’s legs were aching with the effort to stay still, that it was killing Greg to not move. He almost smiled, because it was Greg’s game, and Greg’s rules. “So it’s just like the skirt?”

“Uh…you what?” Greg frowned dizzily up at him and Nick had never wanted to laugh this much during sex before. “This skirt is…” Nick’s hands displaced the skirt about half an inch. “…just…” Another inch and Greg’s expression said his mind was spinning like a centrifuge. His mouth opened, but instead of words he just started to squeak.

“Fun?” Nick finished for him, mimicking Greg’s hurried, grateful nodding.

“So you don’t care what I do now, or what happens? You only want what I want.” That’s what Greg had said, like it was something he always did, putting all of himself, his mind, his body, his _heart_ , into the hands of someone else, hoping that that whoever it was would care about what he wanted too.

Greg almost said something, but shook his head stubbornly and shut his mouth. When he even tossed his head in a silent refusal to answer, Nick couldn’t help it; he sat back and stripped his t-shirt the rest of the way off, and no way did he miss how quickly Greg turned back to watch that. He grinned, not even ducking his head as he slid his arms under Greg’s hips and pulled him onto his back with one good yank. Greg’s mouth opened in a shocked moan as the skirt rode up and then Greg was breathing heavily underneath him, rough and fast.

“You liked that though,” Nick observed and Greg didn’t even stop gaping to scowl at him. Nick chuckled a little at that, had to, and Greg’s eyes closed. Almost timidly, Greg’s hands settled on his back.

Nick dropped his head, putting his mouth on one nipple, one nipple the same rosy shade as Greg’s lips. It beaded immediately and he rolled his tongue, like Greg really was he girl he was trying to pretend to be. Greg made a single choked noise, fingers tightening. Nick moved his head, laving the other one, shaking as he held himself off, getting hot at each lick, each little jerk of Greg’s body. It was more than need, it was like desire thick in his blood again.

One of Greg’s legs slipped off the couch, the other kicking out, his thigh sliding over Nick’s jeans.

“Nick.” Greg said his name like he was in pain, like somehow he’d been hurt after all, but when Nick tried to raise his head, Greg slid his hands down to his hips, pushing at his jeans.

“I want to feel you,” Greg admitted, looking away, and somehow it seemed dirtier than Greg offering to suck his cock, something about the way Greg whispered it, and Nick imagined Greg’s eyes screwed up tight, almost afraid.

He moved up just enough to put his weight on his knees. Greg’s bright gaze was on him, watching while he tugged his jeans down. It was just Greg’s eyes for a moment, and then Greg was twisting up, his hands fighting to get Nick’s pants off, his legs kicking them gone.

The skirt felt soft but scratched against his stomach for a second, and then as he resettled back down over Greg it was soft against his dick, not scratching at all. It was all there was between them now. Nick let out a deep breath and then rocked his hips forward once, his cock pounding with sudden force, getting hard against just from sliding alongside Greg’s. From Greg.

“Fuck,” Greg laughed without much humor, starting into his face as Nick pushed against him again. It was like electric shocks, like the first touch of Greg’s mouth, and he knew Greg could feel it too, startling like a burn or a deserved slap.

Nick licked his lips, tried to focus. He moved his hands, letting them go down until his palms were full of Greg’s ass, until he could slide Greg’s lean body right flush against him and just keep on pushing. One hint of motion and Greg’s hips twitched up to meet his, Greg’s mouth falling open with that sexy, disbelieving moan he’d made before when Nick had first put a hand to his ass.

“This it, Greg?” He couldn’t stop his hands now, skipping up to push the wicked little skirt up in one quick flip. It fell against Greg’s stomach, just above the patch of hair and Greg’s thick, full cock. It was shining like Greg’s lips, wet and hot when he put his hand there, just like a girl.

He felt drops on his fingertips without being aware he had done it, felt Greg watching, smudged eyeliner and darkly well-kissed mouth, watching Nick carefully touch him. He wondered what his face looked like. All he knew was he couldn’t looked away from Greg’s face as his hand traced the firm length, felt the slick pounding, his touch light.

“Oh man.” He said it softly, not quite pulling his hand away. He cradled the weight against one hand for a moment, as though he was judging the balance of a new tool, like it was something he had just carved out of wood, smooth and perfect. He could see the white-knuckled grip of Greg’s hands at his sides, his flexing fingers.

“Is this what you want, Greg?” He could barely hear himself, but Greg was nodding, then tossing his head, yes and no. He bucked his hips, pushing into Nick’s hand, and it was like silk sliding through his grip. Nick curled his fingers without thinking and saw the flare of heat in Greg’s eyes, how they snapped up to focus on him. Deliberately, he pushed up again, staring wide-eyed at Nick as though he didn’t know what he looked like, what he felt like. He moved, and it was like he had surrounded Nick, had captured him without even trying.

Nick clenched his jaw, fighting back the sudden need to get up and press Greg flat into the couch and prove him wrong, to have every inch of Greg spread out beneath him and squirming.

“Tell me what you want, Greg.” He lifted his chin and raised his voice just to see the surprise on Greg’s face. Greg even blinked once or twice.

“You’re serious?” Greg actually asked, as though Nick had been joking this whole fucking time, like this really was some kind of game. He was brilliant, but wrong.

“Dead serious, G.” Nick fought to keep his voice level but the words came out in a growl. Greg’s cock jumped against his hand, and Greg tightened his legs around him, digging his fingers into the couch so hard he should have ripped it. He looked away first.

“What do you want, Nick?” He spoke like he couldn’t feel how hard Nick was again, or offered himself with a few urgent thrusts.

“I want to fuck you,” Nick ground out and Greg looked back. After a few long moments his lips quirked up. His grin was sharp, but it softened.

“God, I thought you’d never ask,” he rushed out in one breath and whatever it was he’d been about to say was swallowed up when Nick kissed him hard, bending over him and clutching at his sides.

This was either too fast or not fast enough. He couldn’t decide, not now, Greg grunting against his mouth and kissing him back, his fingers stroking down his back. Each touch left a trail of heat behind it, burning like Greg had scratched him, or maybe he just wanted Greg to leave marks. He was sure as hell going to mark Greg.

He pulled away, pressing his mouth to Greg’s chest, sucking in a loud breath when his body moved forward on its own. He was snug against Greg’s ass. He let out his breath with a deep shudder, his mind racing, trying to remember to the need to be slow, that this wasn’t something he had a lot of experience with.

Greg hooked a leg around his lower back and jerked his hips up, impossibly pretty as he rubbed himself against Nick, and Nick twitched into the wet slide of Greg’s cock against his stomach, the heat. His cock wanted to push into Greg’s firm backside.

“Greg!” he choked out the warning, pulling himself up enough to glare and then nearly having a heart attack when Greg shifted even lower on the couch and crossed his arms above his head. He arranged himself as though Nick had him bound and then looked up at him, far too innocently.

It took a while, but when he really tried, Nick remembered how to breathe again, how to think, form words that were not going to be about what it looked like Greg wanted now.  
If Greg was daring him to do something here than Greg was going to sorely disappointed. He knew better than to trust that look, when it had already hidden so much from him.

“You have something?” There was no way he could get up now and walk to his bedroom to ransack his drawers. Greg’s pose relaxed a bit like he was surprised, and then he swallowed, something strange crossing his face before he jerked his head to the side.

“Sweatshirt,” he managed, leaving Nick to frown until he recalled the black hoodie. He looked around for a few black moments and then saw it wedged behind Greg’s head. He yanked it up, shaking it free and then watching in disbelief as two condoms and a small bottle of lubricant fell out of one pocket.

He supposed vaguely that he should have been grateful it wasn’t liquid latex. But he turned narrowed eyes to Greg anyway.

“I can explain those,” Greg promised quickly. Nick cut him off.

“Later,” he said, completely meaning it, and Greg licked his lips, obviously out of breath at just the idea. Nick made himself look away to tear open one packet. He knew Greg was watching, staring as he rolled the condom on, felt Greg’s body shivering and expectant. The heavy look was worse than a touch, fiercer somehow when Greg didn’t move; his hands were still over his head, neatly crossed at the wrists. He seemed like he’d forgotten he _could_ move, and the look in his eyes… He looked like some squirming, eager, hot little tramp, like it would take was one word from Nick but in the meantime he was waiting and _hurting_ but still playing his little game.

Nick surged forward and clamped a hand over Greg’s wrists, leaning enough for Greg to feel the pressure, the weight.

“Beg,” he murmured, hovering for a second over Greg’s mouth. He parted his lips when Greg did, inhaling his startled, uncertain laugh. He didn’t even care anymore that he was making his friend beg, not when he knew exactly how aroused Greg was, how much Greg wanted this.

“Please, Nick,” Greg responded a half a second later, and Nick met his gaze while he reached out with his other hand and popped the cap on the lube. It was upside down and poured out over his hand, dribbling onto Greg’s stomach, cold enough to make Greg’s eyes widen. His nipples puckered and Nick looked there, shifting down to tease them with his lips.

Greg wriggled immediately, his whole body rolling toward Nick’s mouth.

Nick pushed down harder on Greg’s wrists then slipped his hand down, closing his eyes for a moment as he stroked his cock, getting it good and slick, feeling the ache even through the latex. The lubricant was warmer now, so he tugged on Greg’s cock once too, letting Greg feel the slick embrace, unsurprised when Greg jumped into his palm and swore under his breath.

One last stroke and he dropped his hand further down, to skin probably still red and quivering from his hand.

He raised his head, stretching himself out over Greg, watching Greg’s eyes as his fingers passed over the tight ring of muscle, probing gently when Greg half-turned away and started breathing faster

The heat was shocking, like always, the enveloping, searing pressure that made his dick heavy, made him want to arch up and take it now.

“Please,” Greg whispered, his head back, taunting Nick with the glimpse of his collar.

Nick held himself still until his muscles trembled, working in two fingers, biting his lip when Greg made a sound like a whimper and raised his hips in a demand for more. Nick slid in a third, jerking forward despite everything when Greg’s lips fell open.

He could feel Greg’s cock, fat, so right next to the skirt, against his stomach, and Nick swallowed, imagining the dark stain spreading with each push of his fingers, slow in, slow out. He had tried so hard not to imagine this, and that was wrong, so wrong, and he was going to make it up to Greg, he was going make this so good, as good as Greg has promised him.

Greg’s skin was glowing, almost golden with sweat, strange in the flickering light, and he was trying to keep himself still and failing, rolling up softly, rhythmically to match Nick’s fingers. His thighs were locked tight, shivering and damp.

Nick shuddered just from watching him, so hard it was painful.

“Please, Nick,” Greg spoke again, his voice scratched and dry, and when he opened his eyes, Nick slid his hand free, his cock aching and hot when he guided himself forward.

He couldn’t describe the sound Greg made as he slid inside, his quick thirsty gulps for air as Nick moved inch by inch. Moved until he was just part of the burning crush and gasping Greg’s name. He put his head back, his eyes falling closed briefly as he sank in and held there, shaking with the effort.

“Greg?” he wondered, looking down when Greg’s breathing got slower, more even. Greg was still hard, he could feel that, his hips moving slowly after a moment, adjusting, and Nick tore his gaze away, reaching out unsteadily and grabbing the hoodie so he could shove it under Greg’s hips.

“Just fuck me.” Greg broke the silence, demanding things, collar or not, and Nick slid his hand back to Greg’s hip, smoothing over his warm skin before he moved it down under his ass.

For a second they were perfectly locked together, as close as two people could get, and then Greg rolled impatiently against him and Nick pulled back, pulled partly out of Greg. Greg let out a strangled little cry, his whole body tight.

“…Nick…” he added when Nick slid back. His eyes were the brightest light in the room as Nick moved forward, then back, in small shallow thrusts. He needed to hear the sound again, the see the fan of Greg’s eyelashes sweeping up to reveal wide, startled eyes as Greg said his name again.

“So good.” Better than anything those eyes had promised before, being inside of Greg, wondering what Greg felt with each rush of sensation that made him toss his head.

“Please…” There was a higher note in Greg’s voice now, a need for Nick to go faster, he could feel the same need in Greg’s bowed, tense body. But he shook his head, moving as he slid back, forcing Greg to twitch back upward.

“Why? I’m not going anywhere.” He was repeating his own words but Greg hardly seemed to hear them. He managed a brief glower and then it was lost in the breathtaking wave of pleasure that crossed his face.

Nick kept his hold tight on Greg, keeping Greg with him, nice and slow because he could have closed his eyes and ridden Greg like this forever, Greg’s small moans echoing each thrust and withdrawal, sweet like honey.

Greg was straining, trying to rise up but held down by Nick’s hands, with his body. His breath was quick, aroused and agitated. But his mouth was only soft pleas and his name.

Nick couldn’t have stopped himself if he had wanted to. He leaned in, allowing Greg’s lips to meet his, swallowing the greedy, pleased purr as he pushed in and pushed down a little harder.

Greg’s cock was a hot brand against his stomach, sleek, easy friction when Greg’s hips came up to match his movements. He was surrounded, somehow Greg was underneath him and around him at the same time, his mouth, his strong thighs, his legs swinging over his ass. He could feel the rubber soles of Greg’s sneakers digging into his skin, and even the pain felt good. It was Greg; he didn’t even care if Greg had meant it to hurt.

His thrusts were getting faster, deeper, and he took his hand from Greg’s wrists and brought it down to Greg’s hips and slid him up, slid Greg onto his dick as he pushed in, felt Greg’s muscles clamp down tight.

Greg tore his mouth away, breathing hard. His eyes were begging before he squeezed them shut. His body bucked up anyway and he turned his head again, offering up his throat as his mouth kept moving, shaping the same word over and over again like he could read Nick’s mind.

“Say it, Greg.” Someone was growling rough orders and Greg was obeying them.

“Nick,” he breathed, still not moving his hands, as though he really was helpless, like he had forgotten about his game. As though Nick really did own him.

“Yeah.” Nick felt Greg stretch around him, his thighs sweaty and slippery, and Greg shivered, not denying it because maybe it had always been true even if Nick hadn’t realized it until tonight. “Are you mine, Greg?” The words sounded like they were ripped from him, too loud even though he had whispered, coming as fast as his heartbeat, as his rough thrusts into Greg. He hadn’t meant to say it at all.

Greg didn’t laugh, didn’t joke. He just shuddered and opened his legs wider, arching up, willing and eager and gorgeous.

“Yes, Nick.” Greg’s head was still angled away, giving Nick that same view of his flushed cheek and the collar partially covering his old scars. Nick had to shift up for a moment, had to press a hard, gasping kiss there until Greg turned back to him. Then he pulled himself up, freeing his hands only to grab the arm of the couch. Greg was staring at him, confused and hot as Nick dragged himself up better leverage. Once he had his grip he felt Greg’s legs tighten, his hips coming up as he slid deep into him, pulling back just to do it again, pushing Greg forward, dragging Greg up. If it hurt Greg only begged for more, his hands flying up, tearing into Nick’s back, his ass.

He couldn’t breathe Greg was so tight on him, didn’t need to. He just wanted more, and pushed himself into each moan, stretching to feel every wet, rough glide of Greg’s cock against his stomach, dying for the sticky, heavy grunts he made as he fucked Greg, as Greg let him.

“Nick,” Greg’s voice was high and sweet, his hands like claws, sharp slippery pressure, surprisingly strong as he urged Nick closer against him, his movements shallow and quick, faster until Nick brought his hands down between them, sliding his thumbs along Greg’s thighs, angling down and taking what Greg had said was his.

For one frozen, raw moment, Greg went still beneath him, arching up and then he was shaking, the heat of him so intense that Nick pumped blindly toward the spreading fire on his chest, into the crushing, convulsing pressure, all sounds narrowing to just Greg crying out in pleasure.

The first thing he felt after that was a tickling whisper against his ear, and downward shift of his legs as the heat underneath him moved. Nick thought about scowling at the flickering light behind his eyes but changed his mind, the same way he changed his mind about turning around to tell Greg to stop his squirming. He was always fidgeting, so damn nervous whenever Nick came around, complaining about needing his space and then calling Nick back over for the slightest thing, rattling around in constant motion the moment Nick was close again.

Greg of course, like always, kept right on twitching, making small, careful movements around Nick like he was trying to get out from under him without actually disturbing him. When he moved one leg, Nick felt himself start to slide toward the edge of the couch and he opened his eyes.

He put his arm out, not quite reaching the coffee table or the floor, so he shifted too and didn’t miss the way Greg was suddenly still again. Nick moved his other hand, feeling Greg’s shoulder before he stopped his exploration. He didn’t know if it was more embarrassing that he might have blacked out for a second there, or that he had done while still spread out over Greg, resting between his legs and still…

Nick moved back into a sitting position quickly without trampling over Greg’s sprawled legs, pulling out with a wince, busying himself with cleaning up for a moment. He tossed the condom gently to the shadows on the floor a minute later and then looked back to Greg just as Greg got a hand up and pulled himself to a half-sitting position.

Greg had his head partly down, as though Nick wasn’t going to notice Greg studying him just because he was sneaking the looks through his eyelashes. Nick realized that he was completely naked except for his socks about the same time that Greg seemed to realize that he was also naked except for the skirt and his damn, clunky high-tops, and that his stomach and chest were smeared with gleaming, thick semen.

Nick reached out and grabbed the hoodie, handing it to Greg, who whispered a small thanks as he wiped at himself. He wasn’t looking up, so Nick watched him. He had probably watched Greg like this in the lab, in the field, noticing every little detail of how he’d changed his hair, what ugly shirt he’d chosen to wear that day, been expecting Greg to look up and meet his gaze.

Greg’s hair was a mess now from where his fingers had slid through it while Greg had sucked him, his skin was shining and damp, and there were shaded spots of red on his neck that would be hickeys by morning. It was going to be awkward at work, but he didn’t especially want to think about the lab right now. Thinking about Greg was enough. Greg bent his knees a little, pushing down the skirt over his lap and there was no use pretending like he wasn’t sad to see Greg covered back up.

“This a usual thing, Greggo?” he asked for the second time that night, because Greg wasn’t looking at him. Nick might have been a little backward about some things, but he caught on eventually.

“Uh, which part?” Greg instantly dissected the question, trying to dodge the smaller pieces, one at a time. “I already explained the outfit, that’s just the scene…” Greg paused to swallow. Nick didn’t respond to that at all and Greg coughed a little. “And you go to clubs hoping for…” He gave a slight shiver and ended that thought right there; Nick felt his mouth curve up. He put his hands on his thighs, smoothing down with his itching palms. “Maybe not like this but….” Greg kept going and then stopped abruptly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “No, not like this.” He admitted, and darted a look at Nick.

He seemed to freeze when he saw Nick’s expression. And it was probably weird that Nick was smiling, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Maybe it was because he had just gotten seriously laid. Maybe it was because it had been with Greg. But he thought that maybe it was because he thought he understood Greg now, at least a little.

“There’s nothing like this,” he remarked, his voice low. Greg and his games, only this had gone a little farther than Name That Chemical Compound ever had. He hadn’t been pretending for very long this time.

Greg let out a long breath, still glancing at him intently from under his lashes.

“And those?” Nick demanded when Greg didn’t say anything, and waved a hand out, to where the other condom and the small bottle had been tossed to the floor. Greg’s head turned to follow the gesture and then he turned back.

“I’m a slut in a skirt?” Greg went for flirtatious, giving him a sidelong glance that might have distracted him back in the lab. He might have believed it before all this, but he could still feel Greg’s shy touches along his back. He just continued to stare.

Greg stared back at him for a moment, then dropped a hand slowly to the couch. For a second it looked like he was going to rub his behind, but he didn’t. “The condom company was handing out samples at the door,” Greg confessed with an embarrassed sigh and Nick’s grin was getting worse. “Not that I wouldn’t have gotten my own if—when—needed…” The quick addition for the sake of Greg’s ego made Nick nod, and was real enough to bring down his good mood, just a bit. “Convenient, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He tried to keep his voice stern and saw the little jerk of Greg’s body, how Greg rubbed the bumps from his arms.

“I suppose I should…go…to bed.” For at least the third time that night, Greg was trying to run, to give Nick the easy way out, and Nick’s smile faded as he watched Greg tentatively rearrange himself on the couch, trying to get up without exposing what Nick had already seen.

It was like seeing the essence of Greg for the first time, the real Greg. Expensive but ratty sneakers, shocking feminine skirt and punk hair, wicked little collar, but fair, blushing skin, unmarked by tattoos or piercings. He wore that skirt to be daring and sexy but worried that people might see him naked, and he went out to party only to come home early. It wasn’t so weird after all. Because it was Greg…and he liked Greg. And he was a guy from Texas who liked to fuck his male best friend, the male best friend who sometimes wore skirts and didn’t seem to mind a spanking, who didn’t seem to mind getting fucked.

Nick took his eyes away and looked over at the T.V., still showing sports footage as though he cared about the other games had played today. He was done with them.

“My bed is more comfortable than the couch,” Nick commented just as Greg tucked his skirt around his legs, and even still sitting, he could see Greg’s whole body go back. “Bigger too,” he added when Greg didn’t say anything. And it turned out his blush response wasn’t dead after all. He could feel it all over his body, and knew Greg could see it. “What?”

“You know, I was wrong.” Greg said out of nowhere after a minute. He put a hand on the couch, his fingers splayed for a moment, and then he curled them into the cushion. He did the same with his other hand and Nick blinked to realize that Greg was crawling slowly toward him.

His breath caught as Greg came around to kneel over his legs, hot and sticky.

“Yeah?” Nick encouraged him, because it was the only thing he could do. He could almost hear Grissom talking about discovery captivating the mind more than ignorance ever did.

“I am _so_ into this kind of thing.” Greg finished and only then did Nick realize that he had brought his hand up to cup the back of Greg’s skull, running his fingers through the silky spikes of his hair, letting his thumb brush his collar.

“Me too,” he thought about saying, but couldn’t say it, not yet, and stroked Greg’s hair instead. Greg shifted minutely, just for a moment, because he was Greg, and the skirt slid suggestively soft against his skin.

 **Coda**. I don’t usually (ok, ever) put codas on stories. But this one just struck me. It doesn’t need a title to me, but if you feel it does, call it, This Is The New Shit, since that is what Greg is listening to.

Nick’s eyes opened wide at the first pounding beat of bass and screeching guitar that hit him. His hands came up to cover his ears, but he could still feel the vibrations in his chest, as strong as the frantic beating of his heart. He frowned at the ceiling for a moment and took a deep breath, knowing he’d have to be loud to be heard at all. That knowledge didn’t calm him one bit.

“Dammit, Greg! It sounds like someone’s being murdered out there!” he called out, closing his eyes. He muttered under his breath for a moment and then that turned into a yell again when he turned his head to squint at the alarm and saw 12:01 in bright red. Greg’s damn music had woken him up hours before he had to get up to get ready for work, and after an exhausting morning. “I need my sleep, Greg!” He wasn’t as young as he used to be, not that he was about to bring that up around Greg.

He had fallen into bed fully dressed last night after working a double, only to wake up a few hours later to Greg coming home a little early from the graveyard shift. And Greg coming here, to Nick and their bed, should have made him happy, made him grin to himself like he had done every day for the past two months, especially when he thought about what had happened after Greg’s arrival in the small hours of morning. Greg’s mouth everywhere on him, on his neck, at his back, wandering down until Nick had rolled over to bury his burning face in his pillow, stretching out for more even as he couldn’t believe what Greg was doing to him.

It was like the purest pleasure, white hot fire right to his cock, and Greg had touched that too, sliding away hesitantly when Nick had abruptly turned onto his back and looked up at him.

Nick couldn’t help a small shift at the memory, a movement that made some parts of him pull and ache that had never had reason to pull and ache before. Because that was new, and it was nice, better than nice, incredible, but it was still weird sometimes for him to think about, even to think about doing it to Greg no matter how much he wanted to, and now he had the memories of being curled onto his side with Greg wrapped close around him, everywhere, not holding him down but inescapable. And it had been so hot, Greg pushing into him. How he had urged Greg to do it, not saying a word.

Nick felt his face heat, which just made him scowl some more, and scrub at his stubbly jaw with one hand.

He should have been sleeping, he had another long night on swing ahead of him, but instead he had just rolled over at the feel of Greg’s glad-to-be-home kiss to the back of his neck, and Greg had been warm and surprised and eager. So damn eager.

But of course, Greg didn’t have to work until late tonight. Though it was strange that he was awake so early after so little sleep.

 _“Babble, babble, bitch, bitch! Rebel, rebel, party, party!”_ The music was still at full volume, probably something obscene and crude from what lyrics were actually intelligible enough for him to understand. To think he had felt like smiling last week when he’d seen Greg’s box of CDs out of storage and sitting there next the shelves in his living rooms. It should have been strange, and yeah, his heart had thumped hard against his chest and his mind had been full of thoughts like _this was too soon_ and _he wasn’t ready_ but he had definitely wanted to smile. And then Greg had slipped by him, looking so nervous that Nick had _had_ to smile because he could have been inside Greg he was so close to knowing what he was feeling.

Inside Greg…that another thought for another time. Because waking up two hours before the time he would have liked to have gotten up wasn’t something to put him in that kind of mood.

Nick scowled futilely at the ceiling for another minute anyway, and then he was tearing away the covers and sitting up, sore or not.

And that was really embarrassing to think about, and he only hoped his shift tonight didn’t involve too much bending…or running. He flipped the blinds and winced at the afternoon sun. Now that he was up at least he had time for a long, hot shower, which ought to help get the kinks out of his back at least. He hoped Greg had never felt like this afterward, this used, soft feeling. But considering the way Greg begged for it sometimes, he guessed maybe Greg didn’t mind.

Nick ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to see his own blushing face in the bathroom mirror, because yeah, Greg begged for it like he couldn’t wait for Nick ask him to, and there was something obscenely hot about that. He grabbed a towel and hung it on the hook by the shower door, turning on the water while he stripped off his boxers, wincing a little. He closed the bathroom door, but he could still hear the music, and mumbled under his breath again at that. Then he stepped under the water.

“Dammit, Greg!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as the cold water hit him everywhere all at once. He shivered violently, his skin prickling when the water didn’t heat up even a fraction, and he directed a glare at the glass shower door. “You used all the hot water?” he asked in disbelief, though Greg of course couldn’t hear him. Not over Marilyn Manson swearing and raving about sex, drugs, and violence.

He soaped himself up and rinsed off in about thirty seconds, and then he was out of the shower, deciding to just use the showers at the lab later. He patted himself dry enough to avoid dripping on the floor then he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed down the hallway.

He stopped at the edge of the front room, staring into the kitchen where Greg was banging his head and doing something involving turkey, mayonnaise, bread, and a hell of a lot of bread crumbs all over the counter. Nick’s eyes traveled over the bare feet, the rock and roll t-shirt and faded jeans, the still wet and obviously freshly washed hair, the ridiculously big smile on Greg’s face while he took a sip of his coffee.

Nick took a moment to hide his brief grin, then he walked over and pointedly switched off the stereo. Greg froze, which really meant that he paused for a barely perceptible moment and then continued to fool around as though he hadn’t done anything wrong. But he looked over, not even trying to hide his elevator glance over Nick’s body, up and down and back again.

“Good morning.” And damn if Greg didn’t sound smug as hell.

“Good afternoon.” Nick had to clear his throat to say it, but he said it. “I hope some of that coffee I smell is for me, considering my rude awakening.”

His mouth might have dropped open a bit at the sudden sheepish look on Greg’s face, the seriously guilty flush before Greg turned away.

“I used the last of the beans to make mine. Sorry, Nick.” Greg tossed him another quick look from under his lashes, then glanced away. He swung around to put the mayo in the fridge, leaving Nick to stare in amazement at his back. Yesterday, Greg had been Greg. Excited, dorky, teasing and sexy, but still considerate. Today…today it was like he had suddenly turned into a selfish jerk.

Nick felt the burn along his backside and shut his mouth, working his jaw hard. Because if this was what Greg was going to be like because Nick had let him…Nick had let him fuck him, then it was never happening again. He hadn’t even saved him the hot water, and he had to know Nick would be sore.

Nick spun on his heels before Greg could turn back around, nearly tripping on Greg’s shoes, which were in the middle of the damned floor. He clenched his jaw even harder and went back into the bedroom.

He shaved with what could at best be described as lukewarm water, cutting himself _twice_ , and then went to get dressed. He didn’t look at what he grabbed to put on; only noting that the laundry pile was getting high and he was down to two t-shirts and one pair of jeans. He made the bed before putting on his shoes, noticing with chagrin that they had made a mess last night, and the sheets would have to get washed too. He was off tomorrow, he could do it then. It wasn’t like Greg would, not if today was any example.

Nick’s felt his shoulders beginning to ache, tense already and the day hadn’t even really started. He walked back out of the bedroom, almost tripping on the damn shoes _again_ , and Greg was nowhere to be seen.

Nick swallowed, waiting and feeling like an idiot for doing it when Greg wasn’t there. They barely saw each other during the days now, working on two different shifts, and apparently Greg wasn’t even going to say goodbye.

“I’m going into work early,” he told the empty house, then shook his head. “If you care,” he added, too quiet to really be heard, which was good considering how stupid he would sound to Greg. He snatched his keys from the table by the door, trying not to see the mess Greg had made in the kitchen, except that the mayonnaise-covered knife was resting on the countertop and the turkey was still out, and Greg _knew_ how Nick didn’t like messes, hell, he had never even a made a mess like that before at home or at work, and he could have at least offered Nick a sandwich too. Whatever the hell Greg’s problem was today, he needed to be taught a serious lesson. And that made Nick pause, suddenly awake and tense in an entirely different way. He was hot, blushing red all over, because there was no way.

No way. He went out the front door, carefully not slamming it, walking to his truck with his head down. Aside from that first night they had never really spoken directly about it…or anything else like that. Things were different and new as it was, so Nick had decided not to talk about it unless Greg did, and Greg hadn’t said a word.

He got in, started the engine, rolled down his window, and then stopped, sighing and frowning in the direction of the house.

“Hey.” The soft greeting almost in his ear made him jump and he outright glared at Greg, who was standing next to the Denali and leaning in toward him. He was breathing a touch too hard, like he had run out here after Nick. He smelled like soap and coffee and he was watching Nick so seriously that Nick wanted to do anything but yell at him.

“Have you completely…?” Nick cut himself off there, jerking his head in a negative motion and then trying again. “It’s like you’re _trying_ to…” Before he could finish the sentence, the guilty flush was back, and so was the brief, shifty glance away. Nick stopped, reaching out automatically to shut off the engine. Greg was being very quiet.

“You did all that on _purpose_?” he asked, because he had to, and Greg nodded without raising his head. His eyes though, were steady on Nick and shining prettily. The afternoon sun lit his hair up, and his cheeks were a definite pink. “Greg…” Nick licked his lips, took a breath so he could say what he was going to say without embarrassing himself. Then he thought, well, if he was going to embarrass himself anyway, he might as well say what he wanted to say.

“Greg…” Nick gripped the steering wheel tight and imagined going to work like this, pissed off and tired and hard and so in love he couldn’t see straight. He jerked his head up, a little startled by his own thought, but then his mind was still working, moving on. Because Greg hadn’t been a jerk about last night. Nick couldn’t breathe he wanted to smile so badly. Greg hadn’t even expected last night. Greg had the day free. Greg had probably been planning this. Realizing that made it easier to speak.

“You’ve been…very bad, Greg,” he pronounced in a thick voice though it was a lie, watched the shudder that run down Greg’s slim body. He wanted to see it again, couldn’t get enough of it. He could have catalogued the way Greg shook in his arms now, and this one was special. He wondered how he had gone for two months without it.

Greg very carefully put both hands on the door, his fingers curling over the upholstery. He didn’t raise his head, didn’t say anything, just waited, and Nick wanted to move, to get out of the truck and order Greg inside and fuck his brains out, but that…that wasn’t part of the game, not yet anyway. It wasn’t what Greg wanted here. It wasn’t even really what _he_ wanted here.

It should have been weird. It wasn’t.

“I want the house spotless when I get home from work tonight. The laundry done, your stuff put away.”

Greg opened his mouth, swallowed, and then shut it without saying a word. Nick somehow didn’t think Greg had been expecting that. But he nodded. Nick inhaled the scent of him once more, then spoke again.

“The sheets too,” Nick added, refusing to look away even if his embarrassment was obvious. Greg nodded again, slower this time. “Now…” He took a deep breath, felt the air in his lungs, but his mind was still red and hot, swirling with all sorts of really bad thoughts that he knew Greg didn’t think were so bad at all. “Go wait for me in the bedroom.”

Greg didn’t need to talk. Nick felt his pants get tight and scowled so Greg wouldn’t know how excited he was, thinking about it. Greg’s lips curved a bit, a hint of a smile that said he knew anyway, that said he was just as excited. He was gorgeous.

“And don’t…” Nick dropped his voice, thinking that they were almost in the street and there was no way anybody but Greg was ever going to hear him say this. “Don’t you touch yourself, at all, not until I get there.” There was that shudder again, sort of helpless. Nick felt himself pounding, hardened his voice so Greg would feel it echo in his chest. “And if you’re good…” It was getting hard to breathe; Greg’s fingers were clutching the door, leaving impressions. He couldn’t be about to say the words, but he could feel them burning in his chest. He wasn’t angry now, but that wasn’t what Greg wanted to hear.

“If you’re good, I’ll let you suck me.”

Greg inhaled loudly through his mouth. Then he coughed.

“Yes, Nick,” he agreed in what Greg obviously thought was a meek tone and Nick’s scowl slipped into a grin as tight as his jeans. Greg gave him a wink, and then took off for the house. Nick sat there, staring after him, wondering distantly how he was going to make the walk back to the house in his condition, how long he’d have to wait to look decent, and how much waiting it would take to make Greg crazy out of his mind.

He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and thinking back to that brief moment of peace before blasting guitar had woken him up.

This was going to be fun.

The End


End file.
